Prodigal
by Sagacious Rage
Summary: A mage with a terrible secret attempts to survive the Blight and the powerful people who would like nothing better than for her to disappear for good. First attempt at a fic, R&R welcome.
1. The Second Betrayal

Circle Tower

Irving's summon was not unexpected. Maebh took her time on her way to his office. She was hoping to catch a glimpse of Cullen, to warn him to expect a similar reprimand from Greagoir. Unfortunately, he was not to be found on the second floor.

It was all so silly. Her frustration grew as she neared her inevitable destination. The newest Templar had taken an interest in her, and she chose to not discourage him. A few weeks ago he had gone on leave, and came back bearing a gift of olives. Maebh loved olives, a delicacy rarely afforded apprentices. And when the awkward young man bashfully offered her the bounty of his father's grove she didn't have the heart to refuse.

Of course then she had to share with Jowan, who shared her obsession. And explain to him where they came from. In a place with very little entertainment that sort of gossip spreads like wildfire. Maebh stubbornly ignored the winks and nudges from the other apprentices and some of the more scandal-loving mages. She felt for Cullen, though. He took his responsibilities so seriously, and hadn't been in the tower long enough to know how to deal with the scuttlebutt. A more experienced templar would have brushed off such whispers with a sarcastic comment, but poor Cullen's blushing denials only strengthened such suspicions and what had been a friendly moment between the two of them had now become a Problem That Needs To Be Dealt With.

Maebh sighed as she realized what she needed to do. First step would be to display the wide-eyed innocence that Irving expected. Make no attempt to deny the olives, and act surprised that anybody could think anything of it. Also feign ignorance about how Cullen came to know of her weakness. This would work because even if Cullen remembered the conversation verbatim (and Maebh ruefully acknowledged that this was most likely the case), the fact of her not remembering would play into Greagoir's impression of her as a silly, reckless girl.

Irving would believe anything she told him. He would probably even believe the truth. Greagoir would be a tougher nut to crack. He seemed hell-bent on thinking the worst possible motivation for her every move. He already believed that she had relations with a half-dozen of his men. Sometimes Maebh wished that Greagoir's delusions were true. Greagoir-Maebh sounded like she was having a lot more fun than reality-Maebh.

There could be no more dawdling. She had reached Irving's door. Just before she knocked it occurred to her that Cullen's conspicuous absence was most likely no accident. In fact, she would not be surprised if he had been reassigned to the Mages' floor until she took her Harrowing, at which point he would probably be sent back to the Apprentices' floor until she died or he retired. She sighed. She had actually liked talking to him.

She knocked. And waited. And was quite surprised when Greagoir personally opened the door.

He glared at her. "Where have you been? You were sent for half an hour ago."

"Knight-Commander, I came as soon as..." Maebh opened her eyes wide and raised her eyebrows in a valiant attempt at guilelessness.

"No matter," Greagoir grunted with impatience,"You're here now. Sit down."

He walked her over to a chair directly in front of the Senior Enchanter's desk. Irving had a troubled look on his face. It was then that Maebh realized there were some men in the room that she did not recognize. A feeling of uncertainty grew in the pit of her stomach.

She tried to look around without betraying her mounting apprehension. These men were not Templars. There were a half-dozen very well armored guards. Two at the door and one at each window. There was a tall man with dark hair facing out one of the windows. His arms were crossed, his shoulders hunched. Maebh wondered if it hurt to hold his arms so stiffly in such a grand suit of armor. Another man, not quite as tall but more powerfully built, stood next to Irving's desk. He was extremely well dressed, his blond hair was intricately braided , his beard carefully trimmed. He wore a kind expression on his face that seemed somehow artificial, as if he knew that expression was what people hoped to see, so he wore it to hide his true thoughts.

Maebh realized with a jolt exactly who he was and why he was there. And the man by the window who still refused to turn around. She looked down, folded her hands in her lap and willed her rapidly beating heart to slow. She was in a great deal of danger.

She decided to go with her original plan: play dumb.

Irving sighed and rubbed his temples. "First, I apologize for taking you from your studies."

"Enough with the pleasantries, Irving," Greagoir was standing directly behind Maebh's chair, his hand resting on the back. "Girl, do you know why we asked you here?"

Maebh looked up at Irving, eyes wide and imploring, hands twisting in her lap. "I...If this is about the olives I can explain. I don't know why he brought them to me but I didn't want to be rude and so I accepted them. I mean, I also really really like olives so I didn't want to hurt his feelings and miss out on them, too, and I'm sorry I know I should have refused or reported him but I didn't mean anything by it and I would give them back if I could but I ate them. Well, Jowan had some too but he didn't know where I got them. I can pay him for them if you think that would be appropriate but please don't..."

The man by the window snorted and shook his head. "What is this nonsense?"

"Please!" She turned to look up at Greagoir. "Please don't punish Cullen! He just..."

Greagoir groaned out a sigh and covered his eyes with his free hand while the blond man chuckled. "For the love of the Maker this has nothing to do with your entirely inappropriate relationship with that boy." He turned to the blond man, "Ser, if you would like to ask her anything you're welcome but I can't guarantee that she will make any sense."

Irving was perfectly still. "Greagoir, was that truly necessary."

Greagoir's grip on the back of the chair tightened. Maebh glanced up at him, and realized he was being harsher than usual for some reason other than to simply humiliate her.

The blond man smiled kindly, and walked over to the front of the desk. He leaned against it in a sort of studied nonchalance and crossed his arms. "Hello. I believe I may have met you before."

Maebh blinked and let her jaw drop. "Good King Maric! Oh forgive me for not recognizing you! I... I don't know why you would remember me, I was just a child when you visited..."

He chuckled again. "Yes, a child who managed to grow up quite a bit and forget what her king looks like in six short months. But I'll forgive the blow to my pride," he made a stabbing motion at his chest and winced in mock pain. "But only because you called me 'Good King'. Besides, I'm sure that your attention, like most of the young ladies here, was most likely drawn elsewhere when last I came," he drawled a bit and his eyes twinkled.

Maebh looked down at her hands. "I'm not exactly sure what you mean, ser."

Greagoir snorted. "The fickleness of your girls never ceases to amaze me, Irving. Ser, you should know that in the last three months her attention has been drawn to Bran, Bryant, Cullen and Maker knows who else. She's practically a public menace."

Irving shook his head slightly. "Again, Greagoir, that was uncalled for."

Maebh felt a blush creeping up her cheeks. "I d-don't understand..."

Irving smiled reassuringly. "He's asking about the crown prince, child."

Maebh's blush deepened. She cleared her throat. "I cannot deny that the prince is an attractive young man. But seeing as how I had no cause to speak to or interact with him other than the briefest of introductions when you came to visit, I'm sorry to say I don't understand why this meeting is taking place." She took a deep, slow breath.

The memory of the royal visit swirled in her head. The tower had been buzzing for months with anticipation. The king of Ferelden had only once visited the tower after being coronated. There were rumors of things that had happened to him at the tower before, during the Orlesian occupation, and it was said that was why he avoided the tower. His son was fifteen years old at the time, and the two had gone on a tour of Ferelden. One of the stops was at the Circle Tower.

Maebh remembered the entire visit with aching clarity. Her despair and longing that bubbled in her gut from the moment Irving announced the possibility to the day they finally left. She remembered standing side-by-side with all the other female apprentices in the large common room to formally meet the royal pair. Opposite her was Jowan. He had slipped out of order so that he could stand across and try to keep her gaze, should she need his help. She had wondered at the time what Jowan could have possibly done to help her. Larryn on her right and Petra on her left were also nervous, though for more mundane reasons.

The introductions were agonizing. The king and crown prince were so affable, so genuine and well-mannered that they had a conversation with each apprentice like they were old friends. They made their way down the males' side first. Maebh couldn't hear what they said to Jowan, but he cracked some kind of joke that made the prince laugh heartily and the king slap him on the shoulder.

At that moment, at that very moment the prince had glanced behind him, made eye contact with Maebh and her insides instantly turned to ice. Petra touched her shoulder and whispered, "Is something wrong? You're trembling."

Maebh did what she did best. "Oh," she turned and giggled, "He's just..."

Petra smiled condescendingly. "Yes, he's very pretty. Please try to hold yourself together. You're going to embarrass us if you cannot keep your composure."

Maebh took a deep breath and smiled at her. "Will you pinch me or something if I start to babble? I really don't want to seem like a fool."

Petra sighed. "Yes. I'm sure even you can at least pretend to be intelligent for the full three minutes of your entire life that these men will ever talk to you."

Maebh was grateful for Petra's sneering attitude. The anger she felt growling in her belly grounded her. It was much better than the aimless apprehension that had been pulsing from toe to fingertip for the last two weeks.

The procession continued, inexorable. Too slow and yet too fast, the king and prince were talking to Petra, the very picture of magely composure. "It's easy for her," Larryn whispered in Maebh's ear, "She doesn't exactly prefer the company of men, if you get my drift."

Again Maebh was grateful for the ridiculous behavior of her fellow apprentices as she was distracted by the thought of exactly how Larryn came to such scandalous information. And then the king was in front of her, holding out his hand.

"And hello to you. My she's a pretty one, isn't she, Cailan?" He raised an eyebrow and smiled wryly. "She'd give your Anora a fit if we brought her back with us."

Cailan grinned wickedly. "Father, this is why Uncle Eamon says you are a bad influence on me." He turned to her. "Might I know your name?" It wasn't really a question.

"You might. But I'd be surprised." Maebh blurted out.

King Maric's laughed, a short burst of mirth. "Goodness. Funny, too? We should come to the tower more often, son." He looked at her again, closer. "By the Maker, you look familiar."

The ground gave way under Maebh's feet. Surely she was falling through the floor. "I... I just have one of those faces."

The king laughed again. "Would that Ferelden be so lucky. It was truly a pleasure to meet you, young..."

"Amell, ser."

"Young Amell. I'm sure we'll meet again once you pass your Harrowing."

Maebh bowed, "I'm honored to please the king. And prince."

By the time she stood straight again, they had already moved past Larryn. Maebh took a deep breath and put on her best blank expression. She turned, as the others had, to watch the rest of the procession. Right before leaving the room, Cailan looked back once. He caught her eye. It was only a split second, and if she had not been staring so intently she would have missed it. But the glint was there. He recognized her.

The royal visit lasted three days. The apprentices walked on pins and needles, even more afraid than usual of stepping out of line and earning a templar's wrath. They knew that the templars would never discipline them while the king was there, but that whatever they did wrong would be punished tenfold as soon as he left. Once for the offense, and nine more times for the embarrassment. Maebh ghosted through the halls only when she had to eat and Jowan was unwilling to sneak her something. The rest of the time was spent in her bunk, afraid to breathe too loudly. The same thoughts chased through her head with no resolution: He recognized her. This was wonderful. He recognized her. This was horrible. What is going to happen. Nothing is going to happen. She's going to be made Tranquil. They're going to pretend like it never happened. He'll come back for her and take her far away and she'll never have to come back to this wretched place. He's going to go away and never come back and she'll never ever be allowed to leave. He recognized her. This was wonderful. He recognized her. This was horrible.

By lunchtime on the second day Jowan finally put his foot down and refused to bring her any more snacks. However, he did talk one of the cooks into setting aside some provisions for her that she could sneak down and eat during the night. Late that night Maebh crept to the kitchen and sat in the dark, nibbling the bit of cake and fruit the kind old woman had left her.

A door creaked open, loud as a crack of thunder in the too-quiet dark. Maebh silently dropped to the floor and hid under a butcher block. Slowly, carefully the person made his or her way toward the table Maebh had been sitting at. She cursed herself when she realized she had left the plate on the table, alerting anybody with a lick of sense to exactly which table she was cowering under. The person bumped his knee into a stool and cursed softly. No templar, surely. A holy warrior strides with self-righteous surety of purpose, and does not slink about in the dark. And not one of her fellow apprentices, who would have known that particular door is the only one that creaks and used one of the others. She thought wildly that maybe it was an assassin come to poison the stores when a quiet voice soothed her panicked mind.

"Maybe?"

She choked. Precious few people ever knew that nickname. And only one would be bold enough to still use it.

He knelt and held out his hand. "Why are you hiding?" he whispered.

She swallowed a bite of apple. "I was worried about assassins. Why are you here?"

"It's kind of uncomfortable, talking like this. Is there anywhere we can go?"

She thought for a moment before nodding her head. "The larder. There's only one door and plenty of places to hide. Plus the walls are thicker so we don't have to whisper."

"Lead the way, my lady."

She crawled out from under the table, taking her plate with one hand and his arm in the other. She touched a fingertip of mana into the darkness to light their way.

Once safely concealed amongst the bushel bins of potatoes and sides of beef, she let out a breath that had been caught in her throat for months. "Oh, Cailan," she said with tears in her eyes, "I was so afraid you wouldn't recognize me."

He smiled and touched her face. "Maebh, I have been thinking about you ever since they..." He fell silent.

"What. Cailan what happened?"

"You should know that nobody knows you're here. Your father... he told everybody you died."

"What? Why would he do such a thing?"

He shrugged unhappily. "I don't know. It seemed suspicious. He said he had taken you to see the River Dane and you fell in and drowned. They had a funeral and every year he takes flowers and throws them in to honor you. I think that's why father didn't recognize you. Nobody knows you're alive. Are... are you crying?"

She shook her head and angrily wiped her eyes. "Why are you here. Why are you doing this to me. Why are you doing this to yourself. It'd be better if you forgot me like everybody else. I'm Maebh Amell now and that's it."

"I don't care what your last name is, I love you. I always have. And when I'm king I can do what I want..."

"No you can't! The chantry will never let me out! I shouldn't even be here with you now. Maker's Breath do you have any idea what they'll do to me if they find out? When you go back to Denerim and I'm left here with those...men..." She choked back a sob at the horror. She'd be lucky if Greagoir settled at making her Tranquil if he had any inkling.

"Maybe, you must believe me. I would never put you in danger. I have a plan. Once I am king I'll create a position of a mage advisor on the court. I'll choose you myself once you pass your Harrowing. We can figure it out from there." He held her hands in his, pressing them to his chest. His gaze intense and earnest. Maebh's heart pounded.

"That's not much of a plan."

He laughed. "Not all of us are the children of the greatest general Ferelden has ever known. Tell me, Miss Master Tactician, do you have a better idea?"

Maebh thought for several moments and shook her head. "No. Nothing comes to mind." She looked up at him, her grey eyes reflecting the moonlight. "If you can get me out of here I would be eternally grateful."

"I can and I will."

She bit her lip to fight back another sob tearing at the back of her throat. "Well, I've waited six years to hear you say that. I suppose I can wait another ten or so to see if you follow through."

He wrapped her in a crushing embrace, and kissed the top of her head. "Believe me. I'll see it happen and this will all seem like a bad dream."

She relaxed a moment in his arms, brimming with longing and sadness. "I have to go. They'll be checking the beds soon and if I'm not there Greagoir will have kittens."

Cailan tightened his grip. "You know, you shouldn't say such things in a place like this. It could happen."

She giggled and extracted herself from his arms. "What's another decade, my lord?"

Sitting in Irvings office, her hands clenched in her lap, her thoughts raced. Had they found out? Had somebody seen something? Had Cailan said something to Maric? Had Maric recognized her and realized what Cailan was planning? She looked up, trembling.

Maric's eyes bore into her own. The affable posture had stiffened, intensified. He searched her eyes for something. Maebh willed herself to keep eye contact, a picture of innocence and ignorance. "Yes, that's right. I remember meeting you." He looked up at Greagoir. "She's very funny, you know."

"Oh yes. Hysterical."

The king took one last look at her before slapping his thighs and standing up. "Well. I'm satisfied. How about you?"

The dark haired man shrugged. "You know what I think."

Greagoir stood up straighter. "Teryn, with all due respect that is not your jurisdiction. That sort of decision is to be mutually reached by both the First Enchanter and myself. You have been provided with copies of the apprentice's progress reports in her studies as well as any behavioral anomalies that required attention. If you are unsatisfied with our assessment, you are welcome to speak to the Revered Mother."

Maebh understood exactly what the dark haired man wanted Greagoir to do. She felt simultaneous waves of terror at the prospect and unexpected gratitude to Greagoir for his logical, passionless argument. Her eyes met Irving's, who spread his fingers out on his desk. Relax, he seemed to say. We have it under control.

"Well in that case I'm sorry to cause so much fuss," the king held his arms out in a gesture of dismissal. "Young lady, the First Enchanter speaks very highly of your abilities. I'm glad to hear that such beauty is not being wasted on a feeble mind."

"Your majesty is very kind," Maebh said softly.

"Wonderful. My king, I hope you understand that the girl is quite confident enough already without royal compliments. Come, girl, it's back to class with you." Greagoir grabbed her arm. His grip was gentle but he purposefully twisted his shoulder in such a way as to make his armor clank terribly. Maebh yelped in surprise.

At this the dark haired man turned around, his face twisted in anger. He caught himself before saying anything. Maebh ducked her head to avoid his gaze as Greagoir led her away.

Greagoir walked with her all the way to her room. He paused a moment at the door, and did not let go of her arm. "I'm going to indulge you. You can take the remainder of the day to rest. Don't expect this to happen again."

"Yes, sir." Maebh stood at the door, uncomfortable in the silence and wondered what he expected her to do.

"I want you to know that I take my responsibilities very seriously," He said soberly.

"Of course, Knight-Commander. Believe me, I never had any doubt of that," her voice was only the slightest bit rueful.

"What you need to know is that those responsibilities do not only include protecting the tower and the outside world from abominations and maleficars. It also includes protecting you from people who do not understand you as I do. A lynch mob chasing a child they blame for a bad harvest, or some noble trying to protect his family's power can be just as dangerous as a demon. And so long as I'm here, I will protect you."

Maebh smiled, a true smile of gratitude. "I know I haven't been the easiest apprentice for you to deal with. I do appreciate what you did. And I am sorry about the olives."

"Olives? Olives!" Greagoir shoved her away from him. "Thank you for reminding me! The next time you get a craving for delicacies you are to keep them to yourself and not bother my men with such inanities. Of all the nonsense..." Greagoir turned and stomped away, muttering to himself about fraternization and respect. Maebh slipped into her bunk and buried her face in her pillow. What's another decade.


	2. BurdenBlessing

Ostagar

The trip to the crumbling fortress took well over a week. Maebh was grateful that Duncan did not seem to be the talkative type. He was pleasant enough conversation when she wanted to talk, but for the most part seemed content to leave her to her thoughts.

Her sudden departure from the Tower still had her reeling. In a few hours she had gone through her Harrowing, discovered that the man for whom she had been harboring a secret infatuation for the better part of a decade had nearly killed her, been ordered by her mentor to betray her best friend, discovered that said best friend was a blood mage, been nearly killed by another man who had sworn to protect her, recruited into the Grey Wardens and whisked out before she could say goodbye to...

Who was she going to say goodbye to? Irving knew where she was going, was happy to see her escape. Jowan was gone. A not insignificant part of her hoped he was dead. She had no other friends. And Cullen didn't count.

She had escaped the Tower. Her one overwhelming obsession since that cold spring morning sixteen years ago when her father handed her over to the Templars and walked out of her life, without even turning around when she screamed for help, had been accomplished. She was free. She was about to join an organization that would earn her respect and put her abilities to good use. She was out from under the thumb of the Chantry. Maker's Breath, she could practice blood magic if she wanted to. (The irony of that last fact did not escape her.)

On the third night of traveling, when they camped down for the evening, Duncan cleared his throat and said, "You should know that the king will want to meet you."

Maebh froze. "Why?"

"He holds the Grey Wardens in high esteem, just as his father did. He's always excited to meet the new recruits. It should be easier for you than most, what with you being old friends and all," Duncan looked at her, eyes twinkling in the firelight.

"What do you mean by that?" Maebh's voice was steadied by years of asking that question in a tone that betrayed nothing.

"You are the same age as the king, are you not?"

Maebh paused, still unsure of where Duncan was headed. "I am."

"Then you would have been in the Tower when he visited with King Maric ten years ago. I'm surprised you don't remember that. It's such a rare occurrence in Ferelden for the monarchy to have anything to do with mages."

"Oh! Oh, yes, I do remember that! Good King Maric said I was pretty. I made a perfect fool of myself," Maebh laughed. "I do hope King Cailan doesn't remember me. That would be awkward."

Duncan sighed. "Cailan was very close with his father, and has quite an appreciation for...the female form. It's entirely possible that he will remember you. I just didn't want you to be taken by surprise."

"I understand. Thank you."

"Also," Duncan cleared his throat again and shifted, looking uncomfortable, "Since the Order has only recently been reestablished in Ferelden, our political position is quite weak. If anything...inappropriate were to happen between you and the king..."

"Why on earth would the king be interested in me?" Her voice was light and casual as the familiar feeling of dread pooled in her stomach. Who told Duncan? Did Greagoir mention something? Did Cailan? What would happen to her, now? Would she be sent back to the tower?

"As I mentioned before, the king is a very strong supporter of our order and you are the first female Grey Warden recruit since Maric reinstated us. He may find that appealing. I need you to resist any advances."

"Isn't the king married?"

"Yes."

Maebh mulled this over. "I'm not sure what Knight-Commander Greagoir told you about me. He's convinced that I personally corrupted something like two dozen of his Templars over the years. I assume this is why you feel the need to talk to me about this." She stood up and began to pace. "But I am going to tell you something. And I don't expect to ever need to repeat it. What I do and who I do it with is my business. But I'm not interested in helping anybody break their vows, regardless of who he made those vows to. I am tired of dealing with the suspicions of repressed little men who convince themselves that I am somehow sinful for the thoughts they think. I have no control over their minds and I do not appreciate being blamed for their weakness. I had hoped, when you recruited me, that you thought I had some sense."

Duncan looked thoughtful. "Yes. You are sensible. I apologize for bringing it up. I did not mean to insult you. I suppose what I really wanted to do was to warn you that the king may take an inappropriate interest and trust that you have already figured out how to do deal with that."

Maebh sat down beside him and sighed. "I have. Sometimes I've handled it better than others, to be honest. I'll probably just avoid him as much as possible if that's alright with you."

Duncan patted her arm. "That will do fine. And don't go anywhere alone with him. Rumors are often started with much less and can do far more damage than the truth."

"Understood."

Duncan smiled. "Would you like to know what Greagoir told me about you?"

"Not really," Maebh groaned and rubbed her forehead. "I can't imagine it was anything good."

"He said you were incredibly intelligent, one of the smartest people he had ever met."

Maebh ducked her head, hiding her tears behind her hair. "Oh."

They walked seven more days before arriving at Ostagar. Maebh remained silent most of the journey, mourning not only her lost friend but also the adolescent fantasy that had sustained her through her long confinement. Duncan was right. She could not be the person Cailan expected her to be. She had responsibilities beyond that of an average mage, and besides that it still wasn't a good idea. How did he hope to conceal her identity from her father and sister? How was he going to explain choosing her over older, more experienced mages? How was he going to deal with the inevitable scandal?

It also occurred to her that it was entirely possible that he did not remember the promises he so earnestly made so long ago. He knew how to be charming, not sincere. The possibility that he never intended to follow through with his silly plan had haunted her ever since she heard of his coronation. If he truly had been attempting to create a position of mage advisor to the court the Tower would have exploded in rumors about who was to receive the honor. The deafening silence on the subject served only to feed her despair about ever escaping. He never wrote to her, never had any contact whatsoever with anybody in the tower as far as she knew. He had forgotten her, and she would fade away into the shadows like her father had wanted.

But that wasn't what was going to happen now. Now she was free, more free than she had ever been. The burden of responsibility the Wardens offered was a blessing. She was not locked in the tower or a palace. She was not to be afraid of her abilities, she was to use them to actually help the people. She realized with a jolt that she could leave Ferelden after the Blight, if she managed to survive. She could even go beyond the reach of the Chantry. The only limit to her freedom now was her own wits and abilities.

It was all too much. The heady sensation of absolute freedom sometimes made her faint, and she would have to sit and catch her breath. Duncan was patient with her. He could not expect her to be in good physical condition after not being allowed out of doors for sixteen years, and allowed her to rest whenever she needed. It helped that she was so stubborn that she refused to rest until she was so faint she could no longer feel her feet and would begin to trip over bumps in the road.

She noticed with pleasure by the tenth day that her body was already changing. The morning stiffness had eased, and she could walk longer without tiring. She was about to comment on this to Duncan when they arrived at Ostagar and were greeted with a royal welcome.


	3. Reunions

Ostagar

There were voices, men talking. Cailan was talking about battle and tactics and looked so blasted _happy_ about it that Maebh felt ill. She could tell that Duncan was troubled by his attitude, and that Cailan was either happily ignorant of that or happily not paying attention. He glowed with triumph and anticipation. She struggled to keep her composure.

A realization managed to penetrate the fog in her brain. He was looking at her. He was walking towards her. Was he talking to her?

"Ho there, friend, might I know your name?"

"You might. But I'd be surprised." Maebh said with a slight smile.

Cailan laughed with delight. "You have a live one here, Duncan!"

Maebh searched his face for any hint of recognition, but there was nothing. It's been too long, she thought. He's forgotten her. Her heart steadied. This is a good thing, she thought to herself. This will make things easier.

She dully replied to his other queries, "Yes, my lord. Thank you, my lord." And then he was gone to talk to the Teryn. She watched him with her heart in her throat. He did not turn around.

Duncan was too preoccupied to notice her agitation. They spoke for a bit about the Blight before he mercifully dismissed her, with vague orders of finding somebody or other in the camp. She ran across the eroded bridge and searched for someplace to sit and think.

She found an outcropping that had once been part of a solarium and sat on the edge, looking out into the Wilds. Yes, it would be easier if he had forgotten her. She was just another Grey Warden. After the battle she would go do whatever it is that Grey Wardens do when there is no Blight to worry about and have no contact with him ever again. Problem solved.

Which left her free to mull over the other, more troubling situation: the Teryn. She turned that particular puzzle piece over in her head, observing from every angle until she came to the unavoidable conclusion that she had to speak with him. There were too many questions that could only be answered by a face-to-face confrontation. She steeled herself with the idea that the likelihood of him recognizing her was slim to none. He had been telling other people of her untimely demise for so long he may have started to believe it himself. She knew how it was. How many lies had she told that she had to cling to with such ferocity that she could barely pick apart the difference of what was true and what she really needed to be true. The constant planning of conversations before they happened, sleight-of-hand, admitting to one thing to one person and inventing something to another, muddying the water enough that she could slip away unnoticed, the anxious tightrope walk of her day-to-day existence sometimes made her feel as if she were losing her mind.

And for all her intelligence and savvy and observations and defenses she had not seen what Jowan was. This was troubling. Her closest friend had managed to conceal not only his illicit affair with that moronic initiate but, more importantly, the fact that he was practicing blood magic. How did he take her by surprise? What else had she missed?

She stood up and brushed off her robes. This sort of navel-gazing was unproductive. Wallowing in self-doubt would only make her weaker. She would think on it later, when the pain was not so fresh and she could pick it apart logically. She missed Cullen. It would be nice to talk to him right now. He was always so steady, so transparent with no ulterior motives to anything he did. She hoped he was coping, that the other apprentices were not tormenting him the way they used to until she started her subtle campaign of directing their attention at the hapless mage Godwin. The image of poor Cullen surrounded by girls giggling at his discomfort with nobody to distract them disturbed her more than than she expected. He never had learned how to deal with the interpersonal politics of the tower and she was partly to blame for that. She had personally shielded him from the worst of it without him ever noticing. She couldn't dwell on that, either. At the time she had been convinced that the tower was her tomb, so planning for a future in the tower that did not include herself wasn't worth the effort. Maybe she would write him when she had the chance. Yes, writing would be better than a personal visit. He could approach it at his own pace and not be so intimidated by her physical presence.

She began to walk without any particular goal in mind. Focus, she commanded herself. Aimlessness is how mistakes are made. She could not afford to make a mistake in this conversation. Stay neutral. Reveal nothing. A reconnaissance mission.

She briefly considered going over to the king's tent first, but dismissed that as a poor choice. No matter what Cailan said to her when she inevitably talked to him again, she was not going to be able to focus afterwards. He was simply too distracting. No, that confrontation would have to wait until she could afford it.

The guard in front of the Teryn's tent stopped her. "He's not to be disturbed," he said.

"So the Teryn is inside?" Maebh shifted her weight slightly, sticking out a hip and subtly arching her back. "I have a message for him, and would be most grateful if I could speak to him directly."

The guard's eyes flickered over her body. "Of course."

He disappeared inside the tent. Maebh stood straight and smoothed her hair. If she trembled or stammered or showed any sort of hint of her anxiety, all would be lost. The Teryn strode toward her, accompanied by Ser Cauthrien. Maebh felt a flare of rage at the sight of the woman, approximately her own age, standing where she was supposed to be. She quickly looked away and focused on the Teryn. She could not afford any distraction.

"So, you're the new recruit Cailan was bragging about. You wanted something?"

Maebh smiled humbly. "I was just curious about your views on the upcoming battle. The king seems so confident..."

"The king is very young. You'd do well to remember that. I could give you a better assessment of our position if I were left alone to do the work I came here to do," his voice was flint, his eyes steel. "I image you're planning to ride out with him and the rest of the Wardens?"

Maebh allowed herself a moment of honesty. "Oh no, I hope not. I'm not much of a fighter,"

"You're smarter than you look," the Teryn sneered, and Maebh caught a glimpse of something else in his eye. Recognition? Curiosity? It was gone before it was fully there. His tone softened ever so slightly. "Duncan is a good judge of ability. I'm sure whatever you lack in experience you more than make up in potential."

"Thank you."

The softness disappeared. "Now, if there's nothing else you wanted, young Warden, I actually have some work to do." He turned without waiting for a response.

Maebh felt hollow, and had to beat down the urge to jump on Ser Cauthrien's back and pull out her stupid ponytail. Focus, analyze. He had noticed something about her, that's for sure. But what? Did he suspect who she was? Should she tell him?

She decided that after the battle she would be writing two letters. She would make the first move, but then leave the rest to him. She was surprised by her own ambivalence. A part of her longed for reconciliation but another part wanted nothing of the sort. If she were to reestablish some sort of relationship with him, it would be another bond keeping her in Ferelden, a limit on her freedom. She was not sure that was what she wanted.

She had wasted enough time on self-indulgence. It was time to find that Alistair fellow Duncan wanted her to meet.


	4. Quick Study

Kocari Wilds

As their little group walked through the Wilds, Maebh was intoxicated with the first real test of her abilities, both intellectual and magical.

She felt a rush of affection for her newly-met companions: Daveth, the flirtatious rogue; Jory, the hapless knight; and Alistair, the ostensible leader. Alistair's official leadership was handed over to Maebh almost immediately after they walked through the gates.

"Alright," she said, turning to address the group, "I'm assuming that you have all been in combat situations before, yes?"

The men paused and looked at each other, not sure what to make of the assertive young mage. "Well, I've been in a few bar fights," offered Daveth.

"Mostly tournaments and bandits," declared Jory.

"I'm already a Grey Warden, and before that I was trained as a Templar," Alistair said, crossing his arms and looking at her with curiosity.

"Oh, good. So you have experience fighting with mages? Or at least some idea of how they usually fight?"

He nodded.

"Because I was thinking it would be best if I stay back at first, using ranged attacks, and maybe healing if I can, until I get my feet under me and can devise more effective strategies."

"Not a bad idea."

"I'm also thinking it might be best if one of you made sure to keep a clear line of vision on me at all times, in case one of them notices me and comes close. My robes aren't much good against a blade, and I'll need backup."

Daveth grinned, "I'll back you up, Maybe."

Maebh blinked, her line of thought crashed. "Please don't call me that."

"Why not? I think it's a cute nickname. You can call me Davey and we'll be bosom buddies, eh?" Laughing, he reached and arm across her shoulders.

She flushed and pushed him away. "I'm serious, please just... I'm just Maebh. Amell if you want to use my family name."

"Alright, if you insist. Can we still be bosom buddies?"

"Your chances of success in that goal will be greatly improved if you can prevent any darkspawn from stabbing me in the back."

"Well," said Alistair, clapping his hands, "what more encouragement do we need? Let's go."

The rush of battle was intoxicating. Maebh found herself giggling, and felt giddy when she heard Alistair laughing as well. After a few skirmishes she called for another huddle.

"I think I'd like to switch tactics," she said, her eyes glowing with delight and her cheeks pink under the splatter of blood on her face.

Alistair saluted, "What are your orders, ser?"

She giggled. "Well, I was thinking if, the next time we come across a group, I could sprint into the middle and stun them all with a mind blast or something, and then run out while the rest of you charge in to cut them all down before they recover."

Jory shook his head. "That's no good. What if you trip?"

She made a face. "Damned robes. Here," she turned to Daveth, "give me your dagger."

"I'm not sure I like where this is going..." Alistair warned.

"I'm sure I do," Daveth handed over the dagger with a grin.

Maebh prepared to cut a foot of length off her robes. "No, that's a bad idea," Alistair took the dagger and handed it back to Daveth.

"Why, they're my clothes, aren't they?" Maebh stuck out her chin.

"Yes they are, but do you have anything else to wear?"

"Well, I..."

"Exactly. What do you expect to do once we get back to camp and you have to be respectable? Oh, don't look at me like that."

"But I want to try my strategy! And Jory's right, if I trip I'll be slaughtered."

"Then we'll have to wait until next time. Or maybe you'll be lucky and you'll find some things left by somebody that you can modify. In the meantime, keep doing what you've been doing. It's working fine."

Maebh rolled her eyes. "Fine."

A few minutes later she found a letter which led her on a wild goose chase from one end of the swamp to the other. "A-ha!" she crowed in triumph. "Chasind robes! I don't even have to modify them!"

"Oh Maker," Jory covered his eyes with his hands once Maebh emerged from behind a bush wearing the strips of cloth.

"Oh yes, possibly those could be considered robes, if one was feeling as charitable as Andraste herself," Alistair sighed.

"Oh hush, it serves a purpose," Maebh waved her hands as if to put the matter to rest.

"Yes! A very important purpose that we must never forget!" Daveth agreed, "What was it again?"

"I'm going to run over there and stun all those darkspawn, and then the rest of you are going to run in and kill them. Ok? Here goes nothing." Maebh bolted into the center of a formation of darkspawn at the base of the old tower they had been trying to find.

"Wow. She's _fast_," Jory said in a hushed tone.

Maebh was already sprinting back toward them. "GO GO GO!" she shouted, waving her arms.

The three charged down the hill. "Behind you!" shouted Alistair as an emissary appeared, preparing to cast his own spell. Maebh spun, ducked a lighting bolt and petrified him.

"Somebody smash it!" she commanded. Jory followed her orders, and the emissary shattered. Maebh then turned and cast a cone of cold followed by a cone of lighting at the darkspawn who were in the process of regaining their senses. Once Alistair had struck the last hurlock down, Maebh cartwheeled, whooping in triumph. "That! Was! AMAZING!" she howled.

Alistair laughed as well, wiping the blood off his face. "It was, wasn't it?" he grinned.

"Come, o great leader," she smiled, and linked her arm through his. "Let's go get those treaties!"


	5. Distraction

Author's note: I added an few hours between the Joining and the battle. It didn't make sense to me that everything would happen in one day, that they wouldn't give the Wardens any time to recover from what has to be a physically taxing experience, plus fighting a huge battle at night in a thunderstorm is a terrible idea. So I moved the battle to the morning.

Ostagar

Maebh sank to her bedroll, exhausted and spent. Alistair sat on the other side of the fire, leaving her to her thoughts. After several minutes she stirred. "I can't believe they're dead," her eyes hollow and far away.

Alistair nodded. "It's part of the reality of your new life. We die, a lot. It's not easy to deal with."

Her head felt numb. "I just never...I mean, there were apprentices who died at the tower, but not … not right in front of me." She looked at him. "Does it get any easier?"

He shrugged. "Maybe, eventually. If you try. I'm not sure I want to be the kind of person who just takes that kind of thing in stride, though."

"You're right," she said quietly.

"Huh, really? That's a change."

She smiled, appreciating his effort.

A messenger ran up to their fire. "Message for the lady," he handed Maebh a folded note.

"Thank you," she said, looking with some surprise at the fine paper. She turned to ask the messenger a question, but he was already gone.

"Who's it from?" Alistair tilted his head. "Surely not Duncan?"

"No," Maebh turned the note over and broke the wax seal. "Not Duncan." She opened the note and read:

_Maybe I'd like to congratulate you personally. At your convenience, ~C._

She gasped and dropped it as if it had suddenly burned her. "What, what is it?" Alistair started to get up.

"Oh, it's … it's nothing. I have to go."

"Go where? Maebh, what are you doing? Let me see the note."

"No," she snatched it up and pressed it to her chest. "Please, just... Can you cover for me? I might be gone a while. If Duncan comes looking..."

Alistair sighed. "Only if you promise to explain afterwards."

Maebh almost left, but then stopped. She tried to clear her thoughts. No, this wouldn't work. She felt that Alistair was trustworthy but she didn't know him well enough to predict what he would do if Duncan confronted him.

"What is it now?"

She walked over and knelt down in front of him. "What did Duncan tell you about me?"

"Not much. He said you were a mage described you physically, basically. Why?"

"Well. I don't know if he even knows this, but I came to the Tower quite late. Most mages arrive as small children, four or five years old, sometimes even younger. I didn't."

"How old were you?"

She took a deep breath. "I was nine. I had known for a long time what I was, but I didn't want to leave my family and was really good at hiding it. I realize now that was a mistake. It's not easy having all those years of memories, of really _knowing_ who you were before. I'm just always sort of haunted by knowing what my life was supposed to be."

Alistair looked thoughtful. "Yes, I can see that. What has this got to do with the note?"

"Cailan. The King, I mean, we... We were very close as children."

Alistair's brow furrowed, and he looked away. "I see."

"I know that sounds strange and kind of crazy but you must believe me." She handed him the note. "When I got here I thought he didn't recognize me and, well, that's why I got so upset when Daveth started calling me by that nickname."

Alistair was quiet for a moment while he studied the scrap of paper, and Maebh grew uncomfortable in the silence. She didn't know him well enough yet to read his face.

Why did his face look so familiar? Was he ever at the Tower as a templar initiate? He broke her reverie when he spoke.

"You want to go see him, then. Alone."

"I do. I'm not sure exactly what he wants but I truly would like to see him. But I'm not sure if going alone is a good idea. Duncan told me about his reputation and was concerned about rumors."

"Yes that is a valid concern. Though I don't think he would appreciate it if I were to escort you," Alistiar's eyes were impenetrable.

Maebh snapped her fingers. "I have an idea. Go get that helmet we found in the Wilds. I'm going to get my cloak."

A few minutes later they arrived at the king's tent. Maebh was wrapped in a black cloak that pooled around her feet with a deep hood that completely concealed her face. Alistair was dressed in splint mail and a horned helmet. Maebh approached the guard, trying to fight the butterflies that were swarming in her stomach. She cleared her throat and squared her shoulders. This was official, business, after all. "Excuse me, ser," she addressed the guard in a loud, confident tone. What did she have to hide? "The King sent for us?"

The guard looked from her, face totally concealed by her hood, to Alistair, wearing the horned helmet and a bemused expression. "And you are?"

"We are Grey Wardens, ser." Maebh replied, faltering slightly.

The guard looked from one to the other once more before turning and admitting them.

Maebh was taken aback by the sheer opulence of the structure. There were multiple braziers that burned brightly but somehow emitted no smoke. Luxurious rugs were scattered on the ground, with piles of pillows and blankets forming inviting looking furniture. On a table on the other side of the tent sat a large ceramic bowl of glistening olives. Maebh's mouth watered.

"Excellent!" Cailan strode out from behind a screen, wearing a short robe belted over a pair of loose linen pants. "I'm so glad that..." he stopped short.

"Your majesty," Alistair said, drily.

"Oh, Alistair, what an … unexpected pleasure," Cailan's smile twitched slightly as he looked from Alistair to Maebh and back.

Maebh sighed and pushed back her hood. "You could not have possibly expected me to come alone like some glorified camp follower, _ser_."

His face softened as he approached her. "Maybe," he said tenderly, taking her face in his hands, "You don't know how long..."

She grabbed his wrists and pulled away. "I know exactly how long," she murmured, looking down.

"Yes," he chuckled, reaching again and touching her hair, "I suppose you do."

Alistair took off his helmet and shifted his weight. "Yes, well, if we could get to the part of the plan that involves me _leaving_, I would appreciate it."

Maebh blushed. "Here, let me help you with your shoulder straps," she sat him on a chair and started undoing the buckles on his armor. She paused a moment and cast a glyph of silence over the tent.

Cailan poured himself a glass of wine and lounged on one of the oversized pillows. "You had a plan?" he asked archly.

"Yes. Especially after Duncan himself specifically requested that I not go anywhere alone with you."

Alistair grunted as the Maebh released the buckle under his right arm, causing the left side to pinch. "Oh!" she gasped, "I'm so sorry!"

"It's alright. Just get it off," he said through clenched teeth.

"Right away. Anyway, I did not want to expose you or me or the Wardens to suggestions of impropriety. So I thought, why not have Alistair here wear that ridiculous helmet and some kind of armor that I could fit into, and I a cloak. Then, once we got here, if I was to stay we would switch. To any observer it just seems as if we both came and then you had some business with Alistair while I left not long after arriving. The fact that I'm shorter and slighter than he won't be noticed. The cloak is voluminous enough to hide those differences and when I go the only thing that people will notice is the helmet."

Cailan laughed and shook his head, flicking the hair from his shoulders. "I love the way you just think of these things."

"Childhood friend, eh?" Alistair muttered as she finished up on the bottom left strap.

Maebh bit her lip and blushed. "Lift your arms up."

Once Alistair was extracted from his splint mail, Maebh took off the cloak and handed it to him. She blushed even harder when he deadpanned, "Really?"

Under her cloak she was wearing the Chasind robes. "Yes, really." She lifted up her head. "They'll fit under the armor."

"You see, my good man? It's all very sensible," Cailan walked up behind her and placed a hand on her hip. "She's a slave to practicality."

Maebh looked away and bit back a nervous giggle. Alistair wrapped the cloak around himself. "Don't stay up too late, we've all got a big day tomorrow," he said with just the slightest edge of bitterness, pulled the hood over his head and slipped out.

Maebh suddenly felt alone and exposed. Cailan turned her around to face him. "Now all that's taken care of," he murmured and kissed her.

She pushed back. "Wait, we need to talk."

A shade of frustration marred his features. "What about?"

"Well, how about the fact that I haven't seen hide nor hair of you in ten years before this morning. How about you never tried to contact me, even after you were coronated. How about the last time I actually saw you it ended in our fathers hatching a plot to try to force the Knight-Commander to Tranquilize me. How about any of that?" Her anger bubbled up from a place she had been burying it for a decade.

"What are you talking... I wrote you all the time!"

The anger snuffed out. "You did?"

"Yes! You never responded, of course. I assumed that you just never figured out a way to get letters out of the tower."

Maebh began to pace. "You have been sending me letters for _ten years_."

"Yes. Darling, please sit down, have something to drink. Relax. Please," he took her in his arms and stroked her hair.

"But, Cailan, somebody must have gotten those letters. That's power. You're in danger," she leaned her head against his chest.

"Shh, it will be fine. You don't need to worry about me," he kissed the top of her head.

"If anything happened to you I would never forgive myself."

"Well," he grinned and kissed her neck, "lucky for you I happen to be indestructible."

She shivered. "Stop distracting me. You're so...distracting."

"Tsk tsk Lady Grey. You may have the Right of Conscription but you do not outrank a king," he grinned impishly and swept her up. "Now, I have gone through a great deal of expense to procure a delicacy over which, I am told, a certain mage apprentice once got into quite a pickle."

Maebh gasped. "You did not. How did you know?"

He laid her down on one of the pillows and stretched out beside her. "Oh, my father loved telling that story. Loghain didn't like hearing it, which was part of the appeal I imagine." He reached over, plucked an olive out of the bowl and fed it to her. "You'll have to tell me if these are as good as the ones from your templar."

She shook her head and swallowed. "He wasn't _my_ templar."

"Oh, of course not. Vows, repression. Very tragic." His hand started to trail down her side. "Speaking of distracting, where did you find this marvelous attire."

Now it was her turn to look impish. "Buried under a log. I needed them, though. I can't run in my robes."

"Like I said, _very_ practical."

She popped another olive in her mouth, "Mm-hmm." She sighed when he began kissing her neck, then her shoulder, then her collar bone. "Wait."

He stopped with only the faintest of sighs. "Yes?"

"The mage advisor to the court. Were you... was..."

"I wrote about it in the letters. I've been working on it since I became king. Everything is nearly ready, I was purposefully timing it to go into effect a few months after your Harrowing."

She sat up. "How did you know about that? I thought that was a secret."

"Maybe, I'm a fairly influential person."

She lay back down. "Yes, I suppose you are."

"No more talking, if you please."

"Wait, one more thing."

He flopped over on his back. "What."

She sat up and crossed her legs. "I'm a Grey Warden now."

"Yes. So?"

"Well, I'm no longer under the jurisdiction of the Circle. I'm pretty sure that means I can't be the Circle's representative to the court."

"Well," he sighed and propped himself up on his elbows. "I could always talk to Duncan about having you stay in Denerim as the Warden's liaison. You know," he stroked his chin, thoughtful, "that might even be easier. You are the Junior Warden now, and leaving the least experienced Warden in the capital would make sense for Duncan and also ease the suspicions of people who would worry about undue influence if an older Warden were to be my advisor."

Maebh mulled it over. "That's not a bad idea," she said slowly.

"Well, that's a change," he laughed. "I'm getting better at this, am I?"

"Don't get too full of yourself, now," she smirked. "I still have better ideas."

He pulled her down to him. "I would love to hear some of those," he growled.

"Wait."

He groaned. "Are you some kind of demon sent to torment me? Is this the Fade? I can tell you right now I don't possess arcane abilities so you are wasting your time."

She sighed, nerves jumping again. "I'm serious. I just wanted to say, I'm not sure..."

"Maebh," he turned to her, dead serious. "Ten years ago you lit a fire in me. You drive me mad. I have been trying to replace you, find somebody to let me forget you. Nobody ever held a candle. I can't get you out of my mind, and now you're right here! You're right here and all you want to do is talk!"

Maebh looked down. "I guess... I mean it's just that I haven't..."

"Oh," he said, touching her face, "there's no reason to be afraid. I'll be careful."

She grinned wickedly. "Not _too_ careful, I hope."

He gasped. "Oh Maker. Are we done talking yet?"

She leaned in and kissed him, tentative and shy. Her nerves bubbled up into giggles.

"What's so funny?" he asked low, brushing his lips against her neck.

She giggled harder. "Oh, just that's what got us in trouble. Kissing. Sparks. You know."

He laughed with her. "Would that I could forget that! Every time I kissed a girl after that I would find myself disappointed if she didn't electrocute me. You have ruined me, Maebh. I am doomed to be left wanting," he pulled her into his lap and began to fumble at the straps on her robes. "Damnable things," he muttered.

"Oh?" she leaned back. "When before you were all compliments? When will you turn on me, I wonder."

He lifted his head, looked her straight in the eye. "Never," he said, softly, running a hand through her hair.

Her breath caught in her throat. "Really?"

"Really."

Somehow her robes melted away and joined his clothing on the ground. She pushed him back, just to look at him. He looked at her, mirroring her expression of disbelief. "Is this really happening?" she whispered. "Are you really here?"

He smiled, slow and devious. He ran a finger, just the slightest touch, enough to make her gasp and break into goosebumps. Pausing a moment at her hip, he glanced back up at her. "Are you still doubting it?"

Before she could respond, he slid his fingers into her and pressed his mouth to hers to cover the moan that erupted from her. "No," she said, pushing on him again.

He pulled back, concerned. "What's wrong?"

"No, no nothing's wrong I just... I put a glyph of silence over the whole tent. You don't have to worry about that."

He laughed as he stroked her. "You do think of _everything_." And he kissed her again and she opened, dissolved into a being made of want and full of love. He pushed the hair away from her ear and whispered, "Are you ready?"

"Yes, yes, yes, please."

He laughed. "They certainly taught you good manners, at least." And he guided himself inside her and he moved so gently and slow she almost didn't notice the resistance of her maidenhood, and then they were together, truly together and his hand found her again and she shuddered against him as he moved within her. She felt a sob build in her throat. "Don't ever," she gasped, "don't you dare leave me again."

He wrapped his arm around her and pressed his hand between her shoulder blades. "Never again. I am with you, and you are with me."

A dam broke, she began to sob and writhe and wrapped arms and legs around him, clinging like a drowning woman. He pulled her up out of the wave of sadness and loneliness and together they reached the shore.


	6. Attention to Detail

Ostagar

Maebh awoke with a start. For a moment, she did not know where she was. There was no bunk above her. It was warm and soft and there were no echoes of armor clanking and mages murmuring in the halls. There were no halls. The ceiling was not stone it was...a tent?

Oh Maker.

Cailan's tent.

She sat up suddenly. "I have to go."

Cailan mumbled something and tightened his arm around her waist. "No."

"I've stayed too long already, what if Grea- what if Duncan comes looking for me? Alistair is a bad liar."

Cailan wrapped is other arm around her waist and pulled her closer. "Better than you think."

"I'm serious. Here, help me with this armor. I have to go now because if I wait too much longer it will be light and the disguise won't work. Or worse, they'll start rumors that maybe you've tired of women..."

"Fine," he sighed. He wrapped a sheet around his waist and got up. "I hope you're strong enough to wear this stuff."

"I'm stronger than I look." she said quietly, belting the Chasind robes around her ribcage. She tucked the ends of the robes into the splintmail trousers that were just a few inches too long and ducked as Cailan lifted the breastplate over her shoulders.

She shoved the helmet on her head. "So, imagine you were a drunk and sleepy soldier. Do I look like Alistair?"

"Hmm. No, not really. You need a slightly more vacant look in the eye, with just a hint of desperation. You look far too satisfied."

"Well. Who's fault is that," she smirked.

"Flattery will get you everywhere with me, my dear," he traced a finger along her jaw.

"It's not flattery if it's the truth." She smiled sadly. "I wish I could go everywhere with you."

"We'll be back in Denerim sooner than you think. After so long, surely a month or two will go by quickly." He turned away, "Oh, before I forget, there was something I wanted to give to you." He walked over to a chest in the back of the tent and opened it. "I've been holding onto this... A-ha!" He turned and handed her a small box.

"What is it?"

"You could find out yourself if you opened it," he smiled.

Inside the box was a beautiful ring. A moonstone in a delicate filigree silver setting. She gasped. "Oh, I can't have this."

"Why not?" he took her hand in his and slipped the ring on her finger and kissed her hand. "It fits perfectly."

"I just...I've never been allowed to have anything so fine." She turned her hand so the stone caught the firelight and reflected it with a calm glow.

"It belonged to my mother. She always liked you best, you know. I think she liked you better than she liked me, even. I was supposed to give it to... but I couldn't. It was meant for you. For a while, it _was _you. A bit of you I could hold on to. This ring, and the moon."

"The moon?"

"You don't remember? Maybe LaLune, who lives on the moon?"

"Cailan Aspun who lives on the sun..."

He laughed gently. "Yes. It's strange the little things you remember. But now I have you so I don't need the ring and the moon anymore. Why do you look so sad? Smile for me."

She did her best.

"That's more like it. Oh, and when you come to Denerim? Bring that helmet, the whole barbarian sex queen is a good look for you," he winked and swatted her as she turned to go.

* * *

She was still giggling to herself when she got back to the Warden's fire. She stopped when she saw Alistair sitting where he had been when she got the message. "Up already?" she said harshly, taking the helmet off and tossing it at him.

"Oh, done reminiscing about the good old days?"

"Yes. Thank you very much. Was there something you wanted, or was the plan to just call me a wanton harlot in as many different ways as you could think up."

"Duncan was looking for you."

"Damn."

"I told him you had gone for a walk, and had talked about trying to bathe. Speaking of, I hope you did bathe before putting my armor on."

"Oh, for the love of Andraste, Alistair, I'm not _naked_ under this stuff." She paused, and reconsidered. "Thank you for covering for me," she said more humbly.

"You're welcome," he said, looking down.

She walked into her tent and changed into her mage robes. She brought the splint mail back out with her and handed it to him. "You want I should make you some tea for breakfast?" she offered.

"Sure."

She set the kettle on the coals and sighed. "He wants me to come back with him to Denerim, you know. As the permanent Grey Warden liaison."

"Not a bad deal."

"No, but," she turned the ring on her finger, "I'm not sure if it's what I want. I really enjoyed being out in the field. And you seemed to think I was doing a good job, right? I'm just not sure if I want to go from being locked up in the tower to being locked up in the palace."

Alistair looked at her thoughtfully. "Yes, that would be a hard choice."

"We planned for that, you know. We hatched a scheme a long time ago that I was to get some kind of court appointment and then we could be together," she shook her head. "Silly."

"He was going to get you out of the tower," Alistair's expression had softened slightly.

Maebh nodded. "He always looked out for me. He knew for years what I was, and helped me hide it. I wasn't lying when I said we were close." Her face twisted with regret. "Still, last night was stupid."

Alistair was about to say something when Duncan approached. "Maebh, where have you been?"

She stood up. "Oh, Duncan! I just was just... wandering about. I'm sorry. Alistair said you were looking for me and I thought it would be best if I just stayed here instead of going out and missing you again."

He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. "Trouble sleeping, eh?"

She looked down. "I guess I'm just apprehensive about the battle, ser. I've never been in such a situation." She put her hands behind her back and hoped Duncan didn't notice the ring.

"Well, no matter. You're here now. You need to come with me. We have a very important meeting with the king, the Teryn, the Revered Mother and Senior Enchanter Uldred."

"Me, why?" Maebh felt dizzy. The Teryn.

"I don't know. But the king specifically requested your presence."

"If the king wants to see you and Duncan, you probably shouldn't keep him waiting. He might get mad, start crying, you'll feel bad, and... well, it won't be pretty," Alistair smirked.

Maebh shot Alistair a glare of pure ice. "Right away, ser."

* * *

Maebh struggled to keep up with Duncan. He was irritated, that was sure. She was more than a little annoyed as well, though not with him. She had quickly grown accustomed to the freedom of movement the scanty Chasind attire had provided, and reacclimating herself to the more modest mage robes proved difficult.

It troubled her to see Duncan so displeasured. "Ser, if I may."

He stopped short. "I thought we had discussed this. I specifically told you..."

Maebh sighed. "I know, I can explain. It's just... it's complicated." The full weight of his disappointment lay heavy on her shoulders. He'd never agree to let her stay in Denerim. "I promise I'll tell you everything after the battle, when we have some time."

Duncan gazed at her, his expression almost sorrowful. "I'm going to hold you to that."

"Yes, ser." The possibility of coming clean, of confessing all her sins to him was appealing. A confidant, a protector. He would understand why she did what she did. He would help her. She could see it.

He glanced at her hand. "Take that off."

"My ring?"

"Yes. I know where you got it, and I know where it came from. So will Loghain. Take it off."

She ducked her head in shame and put the ring in her pocket.

"Maebh," his tone changed, more consoling than condemning, "I understand you are not the only one who's made...questionable choices. You are an adult, and free to make your own decisions. I was actually quite impressed when Alistair told me of the subterfuge with the cloak and helmet. What disappointed me was that you involved him, first of all, and second of all that you were sloppy enough to leave this," he handed her the note, "at the fire."

All the blood drained out of her face. "Oh Maker."

His eyes twinkled, "You're going to have to get better at this sort of thing if Cailan thinks I'm going to let you stay in Denerim. Let's go. We don't want to be late."

* * *

Later, one their way to the tower, Maebh turned to Alistair. "You lied to me," she accused.

"No I didn't. I would wear a dress if you asked."

"That's not what I'm talking about. You told me you covered for me. You made me _feel bad _about it."

"Yeah, about that. The next time you plan a," his voice dropped to a hiss, "_tryst with the king_, leave me out of it!"

"I don't have time for this. We don't have time for this," she turned and started jogging toward the bridge. "We need to get to the tower."

"Yes. Hurry up and wait to light a big candle. I hope you didn't volunteer us for this."

She shook her head. "No, actually..."

"Ho there, look out!" Alistair grabbed her arm and pulled her back just in time to avoid getting smashed by a trebuchet shot. "Are you alright? You've gone all white and fainty."

"I'll be fine," she flinched as another shot slammed into the bridge, "as soon as we get off this bridge."

Alistair moved in front of her and looked toward the horde. "When I say run, you just bolt as fast as you can, understood?"

She nodded, and clung to his arm, squeezing her eyes shut as two more shots slammed into the bridge. "NOW!" he commanded, and she took off.

She was already across the bridge by the time he got halfway. "Andraste's Flaming Sword, woman, where did you learn to run like that?" Alistair bent over to catch his breath.

She looked at him quizzically. "Where does anybody learn how to run? Plus I'm not wearing armor. That helps. Are you done yet?"

He held up a finger and wheezed. "Yes."

Maebh turned toward the tower. "Is that..."

"Darkspawn. On your guard!"


	7. The Third Betrayal

Kocari Wilds

"No."

Morrigan tilted her head, curious. ""Tis true, however much you may not want it to be so."

"Why are you lying. You liar." Maebh started to get up, and winced at the pain in her shoulder. Think straight. Focus. Her head spun.

Morrigan sighed. "Since I cannot show you the bodies myself, perhaps you would like to speak to your dimwitted friend outside? I am sure he would appreciate your convictions."

"Friend?" her brow furrowed as she tried to think. "You mean Alistair?"

"Yes. You will find him significantly more blubbery than normal, but still intact."

Maebh stood up slowly and pulled her robes over her head. Why was this woman lying to her? The Teyrn would never betray Cailan like that. Duncan isn't dead. This is all some horrible trick. But to what end? She tried to reconstruct the events of yesterday. The tent. She blushed. Duncan. Denerim. Alistair lying to her. She clenched her fist. The bridge. She shuddered. The tower. The darkspawn. The ogre. The beacon. More darkspawn.

She felt light headed. It didn't make sense. She stumbled outside, anxious to see Alistair. He would tell her the truth. Not this horrible lying apostate. Backstabber. Liar. Betrayer.

At the sound of the door opening, Alistair turned to her with a look that told her that Morrigan was not lying. It really happened. She felt faint. "Thank the Maker you're alive," Alistair breathed, relief working its way across his grief-stricken face.

"Why are they lying to us?" Maebh didn't want to let this hope go. She couldn't.

The grief returned. "They're not lying, Maebh. I'm... I'm sorry."

She bit her lip and shook her head. "It doesn't make any sense. Why would the Teyrn do this?"

"I don't know. I do know we were lucky that Morrigan's mother found us in time or we would be..." his voice trailed off and he looked down.

"Do not speak of me as if I were not here, boy," the woman snarled. Alistair turned his attention to her and Maebh turned her attention inward. It was true. Cailan was dead. The Teyrn had killed him.

Her sadness washed over her like a wave. She wrapped her arms around herself to calm the shaking. Concentrate. Focus. Her grief was a palpable thing. She took hold of it and wrestled it into manageable form. It coalesced, hardened, burned bright with cold fire. She was going to kill him. But not yet. As seductive as the idea of a direct confrontation was, it was not a sensible course of action. No, she was not strong enough yet. She could not trust anybody. She would have to gather forces. But how?

"The treaties," she said quietly.

"That's right, the treaties!" Alistair enthusiastically agreed. "We can call upon dwarves, elves, and mages!"

He and Flemeth were talking quickly. Their words ran together. Alistair was upset about something. So was Morrigan. She is to come with them? No. No more liars. No more backstabbers.

"If she doesn't want to come, she doesn't have to."

More talking. Why would they not stop talking. Morrigan packed her things. She led them out of the Wilds. Maebh followed, retreating back into numbness.

* * *

The dog looked at her.

"Shoo." Dog go away. Stop looking. Stop hoping. Stop trusting.

"He's imprinted on you. Mabari are like that," Alistair said gently.

Stupid Alistair. Stupid dog. "I don't want a dog." Don't want Alistair, either. Or Morrigan.

Want Cailan.

The dog followed. Cailan remained.

* * *

The bandit in front of her called her "the pretty one". She strangled him with her bare hands.

* * *

"There it is, Lothering. Pretty as a painting."

Maebh hated it. Hated all the people swarming the small village like vermin. Eating. Sleeping. Shitting. Living. Behind her, Cailan lay dead on the cold ground. Cailan's body lay corrupted, blackened, eaten, tainted, Blighted.

She turned, knelt down, and vomited.

"Oh, come now. It's not that bad," Alistair patted her on the back.

* * *

Not just Bryant, but Knight-Commander Bryant. His face concealed by a beard, maybe he was trying to look more like Greagoir? Maebh remembered his departure, reassigned because of rumors of impropriety with an apprentice. With her.

More lies.

He did not recognize her at first. "Don't tell anybody what you are," he says, once he remembers. "Loghain has been spreading lies about the Wardens. He says you betrayed the king." He presses a key into her hand. "I cannot help you directly." He gestures toward a cabinet in the back.

"Bryant, what's going to happen to you."

"We will stay until ordered to leave."

* * *

The caged giant stared at her. His eyes bore into her soul. His grief mirrored her own. "I will free you. Then you will come with me."

The Revered Mother refused. Alistair had to physically hold her back from beating the woman. "You cannot leave him!" Maebh cried. The casual cruelty of the clergy.

Alistair told Morrigan to take Maebh outside. She avoided the look of shocked disapproval on Bryant's face.

Alistair emerged some minutes later, unhappy.

He had the key.

* * *

In the tavern, some men confronted her. "This traitor murdered the king!"

A chantry sister tried to restrain her, and Maebh almost killed her, too. After the slaughter, the sister asked to join her. Maebh was so startled by the request, and the woman's bizarre story about talking to the Maker, she consented.

* * *

Finally at camp, a day's journey from Lothering, Maebh retired to her tent to clean darkspawn blood from her robes. She heard whispers from her companions, sitting by the fire.

"...Unstable. Unfit to lead," growled Sten.

"I know she hasn't been the most stable, but she usually isn't like this. At least, I don't think she's usually like this. Morrigan, you saw her before the battle."

"Yes, I met her for a few hours. And in those few hours she seemed an intelligent, prudent person, possessed of remarkable manners. However, she did suffer quite a blow to the head..."

"She suffers from no physical wound," Lelianna said softly. "She suffers from a broken heart."

The dog scratched at her tent flap. Her companions fell silent. She admitted the dog without looking at them. The dog flopped down on her bedroll. "You need a name," she said to him.

The dog wiggled, delighted at receiving the attention he craved. Maebh sat, cross-legged on the ground with her chin in one hand, scratching the dog's back with the other.

"Cuchulain?"

The dog simply panted and looked around.

"No. That won't do. Finn?"

No response.

"Brian?"

Nothing. She thought harder. Focused on the dog, who had turned and was trying to climb into her lap. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders. She closed her eyes and buried her face in his fur as the tears began to fall.

"Sal."


	8. Hiding from the Sun

Orzammar

The small group slowly made their way up the mountain, the gates of Orzammar looming above, the bodies of the recently vanquished assassins Loghain had sent after them below. Maebh was sandwiched between Alistair and Sal, huddled together to cut the wind. "You don't have to do that," Maebh said to Alistair.

"Do what? Honestly, there's a few things I'm doing right now that I don't really want to be, so if you could be more specific that would be helpful."

"Defend me. From the wind. From them," she gestured at Morrigan, Sten and Leliana behind them. "From your own grief," guilt welled in Maebh's heart. Alistair had lost more than she had, and yet she had been leaning on him.

He sighed. "Well, that's a relief. I've never been too good at the strong, manly role. I don't know how buggers like that," he jerked his head toward Sten, "do it really."

"I can hear you." Sten grumbled.

Alistair blanched and cleared his throat. "Anyway, that's very kind of you to say but actually I do have to."

Maebh pushed her hood back far enough to look him in the eye. "Why?"

"Well, you see, it's just us two now, isn't it? Us against the world," he paused and reconsidered. "Or rather, us against the darkspawn horde."

They walked in silence a while. Maebh spoke up first. "I'm glad you're with me."

Alistair grinned sheepishly. "Me, too. I mean, I'm glad I'm with you and not some of the other Grey Wardens. I mean, I'm not glad that they're...gone, you know..."

She smiled. "I understand." She continued to look at him while they walked. She examined his face, trying to place it. Why did he look so familiar?

Alistair glanced at her, uncomfortable. "What is it? I'm not dribbling out my nose, am I?"

"Oh!" Maebh tore her gaze away. "No, it's just... you look so familiar to me, and I can't figure out why. Were you ever at the tower?"

"I was present for one Harrowing, yes." His eyes grew haunted. "The apprentice, she didn't make it. It was...horrible. I didn't take it well. Greagoir said he didn't need one like me and so I was sent back to Denerim."

"Oh. That must be it, then. I must have seen you about."

"Yes, I imagine."

"What's going on up there?" Leliana gestured toward the gates.

They paused and listened. A messenger from Denerim was trying to enter the city, and meeting with bullnecked resistance from the guard. Maebh gasped.

"What is it?" Alistair strained to hear.

"That man just said 'King Loghain'." Her face twisted and her grip tightened on her staff. "I don't care if I get in or not, I'm going to kill him."

* * *

"Why are you playing these games," Sten growled.

"Sten," Maebh pressed her palms against her temples. "Please, I know what I'm doing."

"You cannot possibly expect to juggle all these alliances simultaneously. Make a choice. Choose a candidate and support him."

"And how would you have me decide, hm? Shall I go with whichever one has the prettiest beard? How about whichever one lives closest to the door to the Market District, and thus is more convenient? Shall I force my own tradition of a monarchial bloodline on them because it's what I'm used to?"

"I like the beard option..."

"Shut up, Alistair!" she spat and turned back on the giant, "Sten, I refuse to make a commitment until I fully understand the character and capabilities of both men. I'm not doing this just because I need allies. A strong Dwarven state is good for all of us. They cannot effectively fight the darkspawn above or below if they're fighting each other."

"If the dwarves are so weak they cannot unite to defend themselves, why are you wasting time and resources to do it for them. Better they be wiped out than to weaken us with their foolishness."

"We need all the support we can dredge up. I can't afford to reject potential allies out-of-hand! If you want to go fight the horde alone, be my guest. I hope your Arishok isn't holding his breath in anticipation of your return." Sten glared at her, silent. She sighed. "Let's go, Branka isn't going to find herself, is she?"

* * *

The dwarf stank. And grumbled. And leered. And spat. And was quite useful. Maebh was confused. "Why are you so interested in Branka, anyway?" she queried.

"She's my sodding wife, isn't she? And she's been down in the Deep Roads for two sodding years. If you're going to find her, you'll need me."

Maebh sized up the dwarf, his eyes held a haunted look that mirrored her own. "Sten, go back to camp."

The giant clenched his fist. "Why? Surely a larger force is preferable."

"Because we don't have enough supplies to support a full expedition." And she certainly didn't need to be constantly on guard for another betrayal.

Sten cursed in his native tongue as he turned and stalked off, his back blazing disapproval. "Are you sure it's a good idea to make him mad like that?" Alistair asked quietly.

"He can be mad all he wants back at camp. Or elsewhere, for that matter, I'm not forcing him to stay with us. Besides, if I spent all my time worrying about making people mad I would have turned myself into the Teryn by now."

"Good point."

* * *

Maebh didn't understand the Deep Roads. How could a place feel so open and empty and yet make her feel claustrophobic at the same time. She knelt by the fire they made in what they hoped was a protected alcove and twisted the ring on her finger. Alistair was asleep. He had volunteered to go on permanent late watch until they got back to the surface, as he was able to sense the darkspawn better than Maebh. She could see it taking a toll on him. She pushed the guilt aside. This was not easy on any of them.

She felt the need to talk to somebody. Oghren muttered to himself as he sharpened his axe. He was not interested in conversation. He was so close to his goal, any distraction would be treated with contempt. Maebh burned with sudden jealousy. Branka was still alive while Cailan was still dead. She heard a step behind her. She turned to see Leliana looking at her with such compassion that Maebh turned away, unable to accept.

"You need something?"

"No, but I thought you might want some company. It is hard for me to fall asleep down here as well. I miss the stars."

Maebh twisted the ring. "I miss the sun."

Leliana nodded, and they sat in silence together for a moment. Maebh looked at her sidelong. "How did you know?" she asked.

"Know what?"

Maebh thought while she measured her words. "When the others were... concerned about my ability to lead. You stood up for me. How did you know?"

"About your broken heart," Leliana said softly, placing her hand on Maebh's shoulder.

Maebh nodded, afraid if she tried to speak she would loose all composure.

"I know because I have had my heart broken, too." She was quiet for a moment. "Would you like to talk about it?"

"What's there to talk about. He's dead. Talking about him won't change that."

"To share sadness is to lighten it by half."

"That's a terrible proverb."

Leliana giggled. "It sounds better in the original Orlesian."

Maebh frowned. "I just feel so guilty. I never really told him how I felt, never admitted it to myself. He told me he loved me every chance he got, but I was afraid to believe him," inside her, a wall cracked. The words poured like water. "He was this, this anchor with the world that kept me alive while I was in the tower. I feel so lost. He was always so _sure_ of everything. He never doubted himself, never doubted us. The night before he died he told me he was indestructible. I believed him. It's not right," she clenched her fists, fighting the tears that threatened to overwhelm her. "It's not right that I should live. Everything would be so much better if I had died instead. I wish I was dead..." she bowed her head and dug her fingers into her hair. "Everything would be so much better if I was dead."

Leliana made shushing sounds and rubbed her back. "I don't think he would agree."

"You don't even know who he was," Maebh held the secret tight. The only other person left alive who knew was Alistair.

"You don't need to tell me. What you say about him, what he gave you, that tells me. If you had been with him, he would have died to protect you," Leliana's clear eyes plumbed the depths of Maebh's grief, searched out its core.

"What he gave me...What do you mean?"

"That ring," Leliana took her hand and held it up to the firelight. "Moonstones are not very precious, no matter how lovely they are. They are quite fragile. But somebody put this one in a princely setting a long time ago," Maebh's hand twitched at the word "princely" and it did not go unnoticed. "Somebody took very good care to preserve it for many years. And the way you've been abusing it lately I cannot imagine that person was you."

Maebh clenched her teeth. "I put a ward on it. I know I shouldn't be wearing it, but..." The dam broke. She lay her head on her knees and wrapped her arms around herself. Her shoulders heaved with silent sobs. Leliana held her tightly.

"But you aren't ready to let him go."


	9. It's Always Darkest

Deep Roads

"I think I'm going to be sick."

Maebh flicked an irritated glance at Alistair. "Hold yourself together, we don't have time for that." She grabbed onto the anger like a lifeline that yanked her out of the depths of horror and disgust she felt at the sight of the Broodmother.

Mother is such a soft word, welcoming and warm. Comfort and love. Her own mother had been so beautiful, so kind, gracious and lovely and everything good. Maebh barred images of Mother from entering her thoughts. She could not let those few precious memories be tainted by this monstrous creature.

This thing, this corruption. This twisted abuse of feminine power and grace. This abomination. The Greagoir had lied. Whatever happened in the Fade could never produce anything so befitting of that word.

Focus. Analyze. Find a weakness. She fought the urge to run at it, to smash it with her bare hands and tear it to pieces. She pushed aside the unthinking rage and looked at the thing with a critical eye.

The creature was enormous, at least as tall as an ogre, with girth that spilled out of the crevice of the wall. Maebh could not determine how far back into the bedrock the creature extended. Nearly a dozen pairs of teats that leaked a puslike milky substance formed her front. At the top of the pile of grey protuberances was a bloated face, a disgusting reminder that this was once a woman. Her tiny dwarf arms flapped uselessly at the sides of her bulk. Slimy tentacles as thick as Maebh's waist and twice as tall as she wriggled and writhed from its droopy flesh. More tentacles burst out of the ground near where they stood. Maebh immediately cast a spell of tempest, shocking the wormlike growths into submission. She was nearly overwhelmed at the stench of rot and afterbirth. Focus.

"Any ideas?" shouted Alistair above the screams of the creature.

"I'm going to hang back and manage the tentacles, you get in their and just beat the Maker-forsaken thing!"

"Works for me!" Alistair, Oghren, and Leliana rushed at the creature, slipping on pools of excrescence as they charged.

Maebh cycled through all her wide-ranged spells. She shocked, burned, froze, and choked the creature. She tried to keep her eyes on her companions while dodging the shrieks and hurlocks that boiled out of the walls to defend the Broodmother. She slipped on the treacherous surface and fell flat on her face. Quickly she rolled out of the way of an Alpha's axe. Dear Maker, she wasn't serious. She didn't actually want to die, not like this. Not here. Not at the hands of this horrible thing.

A shield smashed the Alpha's face in, gore and brains splattering Maebh. She wiped her eyes and saw Alistair standing over her. He held out his hand, and helped her to her feet. "We still need you," he said, as he slashed at a quivering tentacle that had popped up beside them.

He charged back at the creature while Maebh retreated. Then, to her horror, she saw one of the tentacles wrap around Alistair and lift him to the Broodmother's mouth. Vile substances spewed out of her orifices at his face, as he choked and kicked to escape. Maebh petrified the tentacle, "OGHREN, HELP HIM!" she cried.

Oghren roared and smashed the frozen tentacle with all his might. Alistair was released from its grasp and Maebh rushed over to him. She placed her hands on his breastplate and willed a healing spell so strong it left her light headed. "We need you, too," she gasped.

She looked up and saw that it was over. Leliana was straddling the back of the monster's neck, both daggers buried to the hilt, as it quivered in its death throes. She used the daggers as leverage to launch herself into the air, and back flipped gracefully back onto the cave floor.

Maebh turned her attention back to Alistair when he stirred. _"_We won?" He asked weakly. She nodded, smiling. "We did? Yay!"

Maebh looked in her pack and realized she had used the last of the lyrium potion.

* * *

If there was one thing in this ugly, damp, smelly darkspawn-ridden place that Maebh was sure of, it was that Branka was completely insane.

After the second wave of darkspawn attacks was quelled, while Maebh and her companions were blocked from taking refuge in the camp and Branka ranted the workings of her diseased mind, she turned to Alistair in disbelief. "_This_ is the paragon they're counting on to choose a new king?"

"I'm beginning to think your prettiest beard idea was the right way to go after all. Oh great, here's another wave. Oh! And an ogre, too! We are lucky."

Maebh darted over to an exposed bit of a lyrium. Touching it was enough to make her feel completely recharged and strangely hollow. She cast a glyph of paralysis at the choke point where the darkspawn where emerging from the depths. That helped Leliana to take out a few with arrows before Alistair and Oghren even reached the bulk of the force. The undiluted lyrium coursing in her veins, Maebh quickly froze and paralyzed the two ogres. She shattered one herself and let Oghren take the other.

During another lull in the fighting. Maebh ran to another exposed bit of lyrium. The rush was intoxicating. Everything seemed to be brighter, clearer. Her reflexes were quickened, her spells sang like birds. It was so beautiful she almost cried.

Time sped up. Once they finally got away from Branka and into the Forge, she burned through the traps like fire. "Hit the spirit anvils, they'll go for the eyes!" at one. At another, she sprinted around the room closing gas valves so they could attack golems without choking. By the time she finally got to Caridin and the anvil her pulse was pounding in her ears.

"This is important," she whispered to herself. "Pay attention."

Alistair shot her a concerned look, but said nothing. Maebh's pupils were dilated and she was shaking slightly, but she was concentrating on Caridin's words. His story of enslaving the dwarves as golems touched her deeply. She knew what it was like to be forced into a role she did not desire. She jumped when Branka ran in shouting, and involuntarily took a step back as if to hide behind Alistair before stopping herself. She realized that everybody was looking at her.

"I need to consult with my fellow Grey Warden," she declared. She turned to Alistair and whispered. "I'm not feeling... in my right mind."

"Yes, I can see that."

"I want to smash that anvil. Is that a good idea? I mean, golems would be useful, but..."

"No, I think smashing the anvil would be a great idea."

"Alright, then, if you're sure."

He nodded.

"I have made my decision. Sorry, Branka, but the anvil goes."

"NO!" And Branka attacked.

Maebh's ears buzzed as she surveyed the field. There were four of them, as Caridin was incapacitated somehow, and approximately ... a lot of golems plus Branka. "I have a great idea!" she said to Alistair, who looked unsure. Before he could say anything, she cast earthquake.

On one hand, it was a good idea as the shaking rock bed knocked over all the golems. However, it also knocked over Maebh and her companions. She glanced at the ceiling before crawling to her feet, and realized it looked much less stable than it had when they walked in. "Why did you let me do that?" she demanded of Alistair. "That was the worst idea I ever had!"

He simply shook his head as he got back to his feet. "Stay clear, and just cast ranged spells," he told her. She retreated beyond the reach of the aftershocks, and cast lighting and fire at the golems. Her power draining quickly, she frequently dashed to the ribbons of lyrium peeking temptingly at her from the walls.

"Maebh, stop!" Leliana yelled at one point. "Stop healing me, I'm fine! It's Oghren who's hurt!"

Maebh frantically searched for Oghren amongst the carnage. Finally locating him, she gave him a lifeward that was immediately spent. And that's when Maebh saw him cut down Branka himself. Her heart broke for him, and she sank to her knees.

* * *

Maebh stood in the middle of the Assembly. Her hands shook slightly, she was pale and wan. She looked at the dwarves she was to choose from.

Harrowmont was a good man, this she was sure of. But he was weak, and afraid of change. The dwarves were killing themselves by inches, clinging to their old ways. Harrowmont would do nothing to stop that tide.

Bhelen. Bhelen the traitor. Bhelen the brother-killer, the patricide. Bhelen was strong, Bhelen understood the necessity of change. Bhelen was not happy that she destroyed the anvil, but could move the dwarves forward to greater prosperity and equality.

"I choose Bhelen," she said, the words bitter in her mouth.

"Then as my first order as king, I shall have the traitor Harrowmont executed!"

Maebh shook her head. "Just be sure I get my army." She turned and walked out of the chamber.

* * *

Bhelen had put them up in lavish quarters in the royal palace, demanding that they attend his coronation feast. Maebh paced from one end of the apartment to the other, wringing her hands and feeling jittery. "Come here," Alistair said to her, looking troubled.

"I don't want to come here you come here," she said, still pacing.

He took her by the arm and stopped her for a minute. "Hold still," he held her face and tilted it toward the light. "Damn."

"What damn you not damn me I'm the pretty one."

"What's wrong with her?" Oghren grumbled.

"Nothing's wrong with me what's wrong with you?" she asked, insulted. "I feel...sparky..." she shook her head, trying to chase away the tingling feeling.

"She's been mainlining straight lyrium for a week."

Morrigan shook her head. "I told her to let me make more potions but oh, no, her great sorrow would protect her or some such nonsense. And then, she chose to leave me topside because she's such a marvelous mage who somehow does not know how to make lyrium potions..."

"Sweet Andraste make that woman shut up. Why won't she stop talking it's so annoying. Yes we know you're crazy and live in a swamp blahblahblah," Maebh's words tumbled out like marbles from a velvet bag.

Alistair looked at her, brow furrowed. "We're going to have to get her to a Knight-Commander. I think the closest one is Greagoir in the Circle Tower."

Maebh's eyes shone with tears. "Oh Greagoir yes let's go see Greagoir oh wait no he'll be so disappointed in me when he finds out about Cai-" she covered her mouth with her hand, "no no don't talk about him..."

"Why?" Leliana asked Alistair.

"He'll be able to detoxify her. She's lucky she's a mage, she won't suffer lasting effects. But too much lyrium is bad for anybody, even dwarves," he reached into his pack and pulled out a small pouch. He separated a tiny pinch of the dust on a small knife and held it up to Maebh. "Here, sniff this."

Maebh sniffed and coughed. "You fool!" Morrigan cried as she leapt to her feet. "How is that going to help anything?"

"It'll keep her steady until we can get to the Tower," he said unhappily. "It's the best I can do. How are you feeling?"

Maebh shook her head. "Better?"

He sighed. "Just tell me the next time you're feeling 'sparky', will you?" She saluted. "Come on, let's get dressed for this party."

* * *

Maebh was convinced that the entire population of Orzammar had been crammed into the throne room at the palace. Again she was confronted with the seeming impossibility of feeling so crowded by people that did not come above her shoulder. She sought out Oghren, who sat in a relatively secluded corner, drinking like a man with something to forget.

"Hey," she said, as she slid on the bench beside him. "I'm sorry."

"What for. She was barmy. And she wasn't going to come back with me anyway. Not your fault."

"Still..." she twisted the ring.

The dwarf grunted. "Thanks. You want some?" he pushed a tankard at her.

"I don't know. I've never had alcohol before."

"First time for everything."

She grabbed the tankard and drank most of it before slamming it down. Oghren laughed. "You don't go by halves, do you? My kind of girl."

Her head swam. "Is this supposed to make you feel better?"

"I think it's better at making you not feel anything. At least until morning. That's when you feel like bronto dung."

"I'll deal with that tomorrow, then," Maebh said grimly, and gulped the rest of the ale.

After two more pints she and Oghren were singing and telling stories like old friends. Maebh laughed until her belly hurt, and leaned over on the stone bench. "This is...comfy," she said and giggled. "Why is the...edges numb?"

"Edges?" Oghren asked as he pulled her back upright.

"Yeah, like the edges of my skin. Like just the outside."

"That means it's working."

She sighed happily. "Good. Oh no," she ducked under the table as Alistair walked over.

"Maker's breath," he cursed, "Maebh get out from under there."

"No! You'll be mad."

"I'm mad anyway," he knelt down and held out his hand. "Come on, it's time to get you to bed."

"Ooh, hehe," Oghren leered. "Didn't know I was intruding on your territory."

"She's not my territory! She's just in no condition to be in public. Maebh, I'm serious, get out from under there before you make a scene."

She crawled out, feeling sheepish. "Please don't be mad at me," she said, standing up and dusting off her dress.

"Fine. Done. I'm not mad at you, let's go."

He had to hold her up as they walked. "This was a bad idea, wasn't it," Maebh slurred.

"Yes it was. Watch your step, there."

"I'm sorry, I'm doing everything wrong," she sniffled.

"Oh, don't be like that. Even grief-stricken and lyrium-addled you're making better command decisions than most people would in their right minds." They walked in silence a moment. "Can I ask you something?"

"He called me 'Maybe' because when he learned out to read, that's how he thought it was supposed to be pronounced. He refused to believe that 'bh' was pronounced 'v' in the old language. And I pretended it made me mad but really I was happy because it meant he liked me better than stupid Nora."

"Stupid Nora?"

"Yes stupid Nora and her stupid yellow hair. And stupid farm."

"You know you could probably make a lot of money writing a book about all of Cailan's dirty little secrets." Alistair mused. "And while this is all very interesting, that wasn't what I was going to ask. What I was going to ask was, what is your problem with bridges?"

Maebh shook her head. "Don't like them."

"Yes, I figured that," he said wryly. "But why?"

"Something...bad happened to me on a bridge. Father... No can't tell you. Maybe later."

"Fair enough. Here we are," he led her into her sleeping chambers. "You'll have to forgive me if I don't take the liberty of changing you into something more comfortable." He lay her on her side. "Here's a bucket, should you need it."

"Wait," she propped herself up on her hands. "Alistair, has anybody ever told you you're very handsome?"

He blushed. "Well, there were some girls in Denerim but they were...not like you. Why do you ask?"

"Because you are," she flopped back down with a sigh. "I just thought you should know."

"Good night, Maebh. We'll leave for the Circle Tower in the morning."


	10. Just Before It's Totally Black

The Bannorn

The elf lay prostrate on the ground in front of her. Oh Maker, she thought, he has the exact same hair.

The vagaries of fate. The quirks of destiny. The bits of luck that get a bandit strangled and an assassin spared. He looked at her with eyes that held hope without reason, the sun shining all about them.

She could not bear to kill him because he had the same hair.

* * *

"Great," Maebh said with a grimace. "Carroll."

The small group approached the jittery templar at the edge of the dock. "Hold!" he said imperiously, holding his hand up in Maebh's face. "Nobody is to cross, Greagoir's orders."

She smacked his hand away. "Carroll, I don't have time for this. I'm on important business and I must speak with the Knight-Commander."

"No! I've one job, and one job only, and by the Maker's shiny gold cutlery, I will do it!"

Alistair snickered as Maebh fought the deep well of anger boiling inside of her. She placed a hand on Sal, partly to calm his raised hackles and partly to support herself, as she was feeling quite weak. "Carroll, I'm on a mission from the Grey Wardens. I must speak with Greagoir."

"Oh, you're a Grey Warden, are you? Prove it." Carroll crossed his arms with superior smile.

"Prove it!" Maebh barked. She took a deep breath. "Well...I have these treaties?"

"Oh, so you have some pieces of paper, do you? Well, I've got some papers too! They say I'm the Queen of Antiva! What do you have to say to that?"

"Aren't queens usually female?"

"Don't question royalty!"

Maebh turned away and crossed her arms, furious. Alistair was biting his fist to keep from laughing. "He is very dedicated to his work, isn't he?"

"Maker damn that wretched man."

"Hey, that rhymes! You should tell Leliana, she could write a ballad about this."

Maebh shot Alistair a dark look. "It would be a song that ends in bloodshed, I'm sure. Wait a minute, I have an idea." She whipped a piece of vellum out of her pocket. "Alistair," she said, loud enough for Carroll to hear, "Do you have a quill?"

Alistair looked blankly at her, "No, I..." she shook her head slightly, "Why yes!" he said, loud as well. "I have one right here, why do you ask?"

"Well, I just thought I'd write a letter to the Revered Mother. Dear Revered Mother," she said aloud as she pretended to write, "I hope you are doing well. It's been quite a while since we last saw each other at Ostagar. I just wanted to tell you about the behavior of some of your Templars at the Tower. For example, last Summer Solstice I was eating a bit of stick candy when a certain Carroll caught me alone in a stairwell and gave me some interesting suggestions on other things I could put in my mouth..."

"No, no, no, that won't be necessary," Carroll bustled over and took the vellum out of her hand, laughing nervously. "Get in the boat, you vile temptress-blackmailer," he muttered.

* * *

Maebh stood in front of Greagoir, dreading his assessment. She felt so fragile she was sure she would crumble under the weight of his disapproval. She was spared, however, as he had more pressing matters on his mind. She blinked, not believing his words. "The Right of Annulment?"

"Yes. After Uldred returned from the Battle of Ostagar..."

But Maebh was no longer paying attention. She pursed her lips, trying not to giggle.

Greagoir noticed her expression and flared in anger. "I'm sorry, you find this amusing?!"

"No no no of course not just the name Uldred. Ull dread," she giggled, high-pitched and hysterical. "Dread them ull!"

Greagoir covered his face with his hands and took several deep breaths. "She's lyrium-addled?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.

Alistair nodded sadly. "She was mainlining in the Deep Roads for a week before I realized. I've had her on the knife's edge since then."

"How long did it take you to get here?"

"Just under three weeks."

"Blessed Andraste. There's no getting around it. We have to detoxify her immediately."

"But the mages..."

Greagoir shook his head. "The door's already locked. If anything comes through I'll be right in that room. Other than that I've just been waiting for word from Denerim. We can afford the time. You have Templar training, yes?"

Alistair nodded.

"I hope you have women in your party, they will need to tend to her. Maebh, Maebh look at me."

Her eyes shone bright with tears. "Greagoir don't be mad don't be mad I've done something..."

He placed his hand on her shoulder. "There's no need to apologize, girl. I have a gift for you, doesn't that sound like fun?"

"Really?" she clasped her hands together, excited as a little girl on her birthday. "Oh, you shouldn't have!"

"Yes, yes, it's right in here," Greagoir led her into a small room off the main hallway, shut the door, and bolted it. "Go get the women," he said to Alistair. "I'll prepare the incense."

A short while later, Greagoir, Alistair, Leliana and Morrigan stood outside the small cell where Greagoir had locked Maebh. They were all dressed in unbleached cotton robes. Greagoir and Morrigan had pulled their hair back securely. Greagoir held a large thurible, stuffed with unlit incense. Alistair carried an unlit brazier, Morrigan two buckets of water, and Leliana another bucket of water, a fifth robe, and an empty bucket. Greagoir turned to the group. "I need to warn you, this will not be easy to bear. She will be in a great deal of pain. She may say things that are shocking. You cannot take anything she says to heart, her rantings will be the symptoms of a diseased mind. She may imagine that you are other people she knows. It will go easier if you just play along and don't argue."

"What's going to happen?" Leliana asked, her face a mask of worry.

"Basically, we're going to sweat it out of her. The incense and brazier will speed this process considerably. She will most likely vomit as well, which is what the empty bucket is for. The water is so we can keep something in her stomach to vomit, and to keep her from becoming dehydrated before the process is over. She may try to cast spells on us to escape. We can rotate who is in there with her if the heat becomes overwhelming. However, either Alistair or myself must be with her at all times, to counteract her spell casting. I am hoping we will be able to restrain her without the use of leather straps, as that can be quite upsetting for everybody. The good news is, this should only take a few hours."

The three nodded solemnly. "First things first," Greagoir said, "ladies, I'd like you to go in there and change her out of her clothes and into the robe. She'll probably be upset when you go in but I'm hoping she will not be violent," he unlatched the bolt.

Leliana and Morrigan crept in. Maebh was curled up in the far corner, wringing her hands and muttering to herself. She looked at them with hollow eyes. "Maebh," Leliana called softly. "Would you like to come over here? I have something for you."

Maebh shook her head and covered her mouth with her hand. "Lies lies lies..." she babbled.

Morrigan placed her buckets of water on the floor. "Perhaps a more direct approach?" she asked Leliana. Before waiting for a response, she clapped her hands sharply. "Girl!" she commanded. "Put this on!" she threw the robe at Maebh.

Maebh hung her head and began to strip. "That seems cruel," Leliana said.

Morrigan sneered in disgust. "She's been trained to think of herself as less than human by the Chantry. She'll always respond better to commands than kindness."

Tears were dropping out of Maebh's eyes. "Can't do it I'm sorry don't be mad..." Her hands shook so violently she could not undo the clasp on her mage robes.

"Oh we're not..." Leliana started but Morrigan cut her off with a gesture.

"Come here, then, you silly child. We shall do it for you since you are incapable."

Maebh shuffled over to them, and meekly submitted to their attention. Once they had finished, Maebh retreated to her corner. Morrigan knocked on the door. Greagoir opened it. "We're ready," she told him in a flat tone. "You've trained her well."

Greagoir's eyes were ice. "You have a lot to say for an apostate."

"Well, what are you waiting for, Knight-Commander? Go get your sword and run me through!"

"Save it, Morrigan," Alistair came between them and lit the brazier while Greagoir lit the thurible. "This is going to be unpleasant enough."

They stood on one side of the small cell, watching Maebh who watched them with sunken eyes and twitching mouth. Her lips were cracked and dry, her cheeks sallow. Greagoir approached her. "Maebh, are you thirsty?" he asked gently.

She nodded. "It's hot in here," she said softly. "I'll make it colder," she began gathering her will to cast a blizzard. Both Alistair and Greagoir quickly cleansed the area. Maebh jerked and cried out as if she had been burned. Greagoir lifted a cup of water to her. "No," she said and pushed it away.

"What's wrong, child," he asked.

"Don't deserve it. Let you down." Her tongue clung to the roof of her mouth, throat was so dry she could barely speak. "Lyrium. C-Cailan..."

He hushed her. "That doesn't matter. I want you to have some water. Listen to the Knight-Commander."

She drank greedily and sighed. "I don't like it. It smells," she pointed at the thurible.

Greagoir laughed. "It does. But it's necessary."

"Don't like necessary things. Like having a choice," she turned to the wall. "Father Tower Duncan Cailan never had a choice. Do what you're supposed to do Maybe listen to me do what I tell you don't think Maybe don't want don't argue do what I tell you listen to me don't look sad smile for me do what I tell you don't question it come to Denerim of course you want to be with me don't question..." her voice died as her throat became parched again. Greagoir handed her the cup and she again gulped the water. "Greagoir don't be mad please," tears and sweat began to drip down her face. "Greagoir I lay with a man I wanted to Greagoir don't be disappointed he died he died Cailan lay on the cold ground I couldn't save him he sent me away..." the tears fell like rain. "He sent me away Father sent me away you sent me away where can I stay who wants me to stay who will let me stay..." she fell silent.

Greagoir's expression was sorrowful. "We all want you to stay," he said in a husky voice, "but we also have to do our duty."

But Maebh didn't hear. She stood up shakily, stumbled to the empty bucket and vomited.

* * *

The minutes passed like hours, Maebh slipping in and out of delirium. "Maker's Breath," she gasped in a moment of clarity. "Why am I dressed like this? Why is it so hot in here? What's that smell? Oh, thank you, Greagoir, I am parched." She drank deeply. She focused on Greagoir. "What happened to your hair?"

"I tied it back."

Her eyes glazed. "No, don't be silly Father. When did it turn grey like that?" Her eyes grew wide. "Is it a disguise? Can I wear a disguise? Are we tricking somebody?"

Greagoir slumped. "Yes, it's a disguise and you have one, too."

"Oh, most excellent! You have a disguise, too, of course," she said, turning to Alistair. "That's why your hair looks like that."

"Oh yes, of course."

"Because I like it better long."

"I'm sure you do."

"Who are we tricking?" she gasped in excitement. "Is it Nora? I hope it's stupid Nora."

"Sure, it's stupid Nora," Alistair humored her.

Leliana returned from fetching more water. "Shh!" hissed Maebh as she crawled to Alistair, unable to walk. "She'll figure it out. She's not actually stupid, you know. She's very smart and very pretty and everybody knows you're very lucky that she's going to marry you instead of me," she pouted. "But you love me I know they all know why doesn't that matter?"

Alistair patted her head awkwardly. "I don't know."

"Don't leave me don't let them take me help me I'm so scared..." she babbled, clutching his robe in her fists. "Don't forget me..." and she wept.

* * *

Greagoir held another cup of water to her. She knocked it out of his hands, flinched and covered her head. "Father, please, don't... I can hide it I've been hiding it Cailan knows he's been helping me Father," before Greagoir could react she cast a glyph of repulsion at his feet. He was thrown back against the wall.

"Oh, my!" gasped Morrigan.

Maebh began to gather her will again. "You can't make me go I won't I want to stay with you Father I love you don't make me go!" Her fingers crackled with lightning.

"What are you waiting for, Alistair?" wheezed Greagoir.

"Of course," responded Alistair, who smote Maebh. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she collapsed.

"Was that truly necessary?" demanded Morrigan.

"Yes," Greagoir responded grimly. "As are the straps. If she continues to think I'm her father, things could get even uglier."

"Why? What do you know?" Morrigan interrogated Greagoir angrily.

He turned to her with barely controlled rage. "I was _there_. I know he treated her in a way no child should be treated, regardless of who they are. Now go get the straps before she wakens."

Morrigan returned a few minutes later with a wooden box. Gently, as if he were wrapping an infant, Greagoir buckled them around her wrists, waist, and ankles. He then attached them to rings on the floor. For some time she lay perfectly still. Then she began to twist and moan. Then, she screamed as she writhed on the floor in pain. Leliana was overwhelmed and left the room. Alistair turned his face to the wall. Morrigan sat with Maebh's head in her lap, smoothing her sweat-soaked hair from her brow.

"Mother," Maebh whimpered. "Mother, I missed you."

"I know, dear, I missed you, too."

She sighed in contentment before another spasm wracked her body. "Father's going to send me away. I don't want to go."

"I know, dear."

"Father hates me. I can't help it. I want to please him but I can't."

"I know, dear. I understand."

* * *

Maebh was silent for some time, breathing heavily. "Greagoir, something's wrong," she said somberly. "Jowan..." she choked, "Jowan is lying to me. I don't see it. Why don't I see it? How could this happen?"

"Jowan lied to us all, girl," Greagoir said sadly.

"But I'm his friend. Why is my friend lying to me?"

"Because you are his friend? He wants to protect you? Or he's afraid you would disapprove? He's afraid of disappointing you? He's ashamed you are so much stronger? There are many reasons why we lie to each other."

"I am lying to you, Greagoir."

"I'm sure you are. But it doesn't matter. I forgive you."

Maebh's eyes rolled back in her head and she went limp. After a few minutes of silence, she reached out her hand and grasped his tightly. "Oh Maker," she groaned. "I feel like I've been run over by a herd of brontos."

"Here, hold her up," Greagoir said to Morrigan. He took a candle and held it up to Maebh's face as he pushed back her eyelids. "Oh thank the Maker, it's over," he looked up at Alistair. "Go tell the men to prepare a bath, and fetch Leliana."

* * *

Maebh didn't have the strength to stand, let alone walk to the lavatory and bathe herself. Alistair carried her in and then left with Greagoir to clean up elsewhere. Leliana held her up while Morrigan stripped her of her robe, and then they both did their best to help her into the bath without dropping her. "Blessed Andraste every inch of me aches," she groaned. "I'm so sorry."

"Why are you apologizing," Morrigan demanded as she lathered her hair, "you are constantly apologizing, and usually for something that somebody else did. Is that something they teach you in the tower? To feel countinually guilty?"

Maebh laughed ruefully. "That's part of it."

"'Tis a terrible thing to teach a child, to be afraid of one's own gifts. To feel as if what makes one special is a curse." Morrigan poured a pitcher of water over her head.

Maebh sputtered and wiped her eyes. "Isn't it?" she protested as Leliana soaped her back. "If I wasn't a mage everything would have … been very different."

"Yes, and if wishes were fishes we'd never go hungry. Lift up your leg."

"Besides that," Leliana said, fetching some towels. "If you weren't a mage, do you think Duncan would have recruited you? Then where would we be? Even as incapacitated as you have been, you're still a better leader than Alistair."

Morrigan snorted. "Truer words. Can you stand?"

Maebh tested her weight on her arms. "I think so." She stepped gingerly out of the tub and wrapped a towel around herself while Leliana dried her hair. "Thank you. Both of you. I don't know why you've decided to help me like this."

"We're doing this because we believe in you," Leliana placed her hand on her shoulder.

"Yes, and the Blight, of course," Morrigan smirked.

"Morrigan, you especially. I've said and done some awful things to you. I just wanted to apologize, and I really mean it this time, not a reflex."

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, well. You better get dressed and tell the Templars to bring more water. We all need a bath."


	11. Revelations, Part One

Circle Tower

Maebh sat in a very comfortable chair next to a roaring fire, wrapped in blankets and furs, a mug of bouillon clutched in her hands.

In Greagoir's personal chamber.

She lifted one weakened hand to rub her forehead. Greagoir entered. "How are you feeling?" he asked gently.

"Better, though still a bit sore," she shifted in her seat. "And like I could sleep for a week, but no chance of that happening anytime soon."

"Believe me, if I could allow you to do that here, I would. Unfortunately, the Tower is not safe. I took a big enough risk allowing you to stay as long as I have."

"Yes, I wanted to speak with you about that. Maybe it was the delirium, but I seem to recall you mentioning the Right of Annulment?"

"You did not imagine it."

Maebh was silent while that information sunk in. "How could it have come to this?"

Greagoir stood and began to pace. "We are prepared to deal with one abomination at a time, not a … a battalion! We were already weakened by our own losses at Ostagar. We were overwhelmed. I do not make this decision lightly, young lady."

Maebh leaned her head back and closed her eyes, weary. "Of course you don't. Is everybody behind the door an abomination?"

"Well, there are those who are dead, I suppose."

"Don't be like that," she absentmindedly twisted the ring on her finger.

"No. You can't go in."

"I'm not under your jurisdiction anymore," she reminded him.

"Absolutely not. It is out of the question. You may not be under my command but the Templars with the key certainly are."

"If there are any mages left alive I need them for my army," declared Maebh, her temper flaring. "I'm pretty sure a Grey Warden's orders during a Blight supersede that of a Knight-Commander's. And even if they don't, I'm sure I can convince Bran that they do."

"Bran's dead."

Maebh glared at him. "There has to be some left alive in there still. How can you just abandon..."

"I'm not abandoning them! I'm right here! You weren't when those creatures boiled out of the walls and cut through my men like hay! You weren't here when the demons erupted from the floor and set them aflame! You weren't here to hear the screaming!" Greagoir's voice cracked, he took a deep breath. "I'm not losing any more to those beasts. You are not going in, and that is final."

"Damn it, Greagoir! Why go through all the trouble of detoxifying me just to send me on my merry way?"

"I did not bring you here as a child, keep you safe as you matured, defend you from your own father's attempt to have you made Tranquil, just to send you into the gates of Hell!"

Maebh smashed her mug on the floor as she jumped out of her seat. "You forget your place. I have duties and responsibilities that I am _obligated to fulfill._ Ferelden cannot afford to indulge your paternal fantasies!"

Greagoir grasped her upper arms. "Forgive me," he said tightly. "You have always performed your duty admirably. In some ways, you are so much like..."

Maebh held up a hand. "Like _you_," she interrupted fiercely. "You have taught me well. Let me help you."

Greagoir's eyes were bright. He nodded his consent. "Are you sure you're quite recovered?"

"I'll be fine. We've wasted enough time on me already."

* * *

"Remember when you said that casting earthquake in a cavern was the worst idea you ever had? I think you just topped it," Alistair said angrily.

"You have your orders."

"Do I need to remind you that you were just detoxified? You are in no condition to fight..."

"I feel better than I have in a month. I have a full pack of potion, thanks to Morrigan. You and she and Leliana need to rest. Oghren's drunk. I'm taking Sten and Zevran."

"How can you trust them?"

"What are they going to do? Mutiny or assassinate me in the middle of a battle with a demon? It's in their own best self interest to keep me alive for the duration of this mission."

Alistair slumped, defeated. "I guess that makes sense."

Maebh hugged him tightly. "I'll be fine. Just relax, you've been taking care of me enough lately." She kissed him on the cheek and left, not looking back when the Templars shut and bolted the door behind her.

* * *

"Maker's Breath, Wynne?" Maebh could not believe her eyes. "You survived Ostagar?!"

"Yes, actually," she said with a wince. "Though I must say I'm more surprised to see you still standing after that. I thought Wardens were all wiped out."

"Not all. There was myself and one other who had been sent from the field by the king. He saved our lives."

"Thank the Maker."

Maebh paused, uncomfortable. "Wynne, you need to know that Greagoir has called for the Right of Annulment."

Wynne gasped, Petra and Kinnon stared at her, eyes wide with fear. "It is worse than I suspected. Greagoir would not make that kind of decision if he had any other choice," Wynne clutched her staff.

"He did that before _I_ got here. _I_ am his other choice," Maebh's eyes flashed with determination. "But to do what I need to do, you have to let us through that barrier."

"I'm coming with you," Wynne's determination matched Maebh's.

"Impossible. Who will protect the children?" Maebh gestured toward the young apprentices huddled in a corner, small licks of flame and sparks of lighting flickering from their fingers.

"Petra and Kinnon are more than capable. They can erect a similar barrier after we leave. You need me."

Maebh turned away, brow furrowed. She looked at Sten and Zevran, both watched her guardedly, revealing nothing of their thoughts. It occurred to her that an ally against these two could be helpful. She turned back to Wynne. "Fine. But I'm in charge here, Senior Enchanter. This is my mission."

"I would not dream of mutiny, Grey Warden," Wynne said with a small smile.

* * *

This was not like her Harrowing. There, the demons had been smaller, almost benign. It was as if they had known it were a game; as if they had known that in the waking world Cullen held his blade to her throat, so attempts to possess her really weren't worth the effort. Or maybe it was her own will, her own arrogance that kept the demons small. Maybe she had been in more danger from the pride demon than she realized.

But she didn't have time for such introspection at this point, because right in front of her was a maleficar surrounded by a troop of abominations who all wanted to claw her to shreds. She saw the mage preparing to cast Sten in a crushing prison and stunned him. "These are all rage abominations," she said to Zevran, who was also surveying the field. "Um, fight fire with fire?"

He glanced at her, "You're asking me?" he asked, disbelievingly. He then slipped away in an attempt to flank the mage. Maebh cast a lifeward on him. She then tried a cone of fire at the abominations, which failed miserably.

"Think, girl," Wynne said with irritation, casting tempest. "Try something cold."

Maebh cast blizzard, which proved remarkably successful against the abominations. Unfortunately, it also froze Sten and Zevran.

"Pashaara. You are no longer under the influence of intoxicating substances?" Sten growled after thawing.

Maebh's lip twitched. "I am not. If you didn't notice, I just saved your hide."

"A happy coincidence."

Maebh stepped up to Sten, drew herself to her full height and stared into his eyes. "A coincidence, you say?" she challenged softly. "We're trapped in here, now. The only way you're going to lead is to cut me down." She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes, never breaking eye contact. "How many 'happy coincidences' do you think you'll get without me?"

Sten grimaced in barely concealed fury. "This isn't over."

"I'm sure it isn't. But you're going to stuff it until we're out of this Tower, understood?"

"Understood."

* * *

Maebh awoke with a start. For a moment, she did not know where she was. There was no bunk above her, but a canopy. It was warm and soft and there were no echoes of armor clanking and mages murmuring in the halls. The sunlight poured in through large bay windows. Her sheets were smooth and her coverlet luscious. She gathered a large wad of bedding and curled on her side with a contented smile. She heard a familiar voice humming happily and a footstep in the hall. She looked at the door.

There stood Cailan. "Excellent, you're awake!" he loped across the spacious chamber and leapt into bed, grabbing Maebh and flipping her over on top of him as she squealed. "Your Father isn't going to be returning with Orla and Rian until sometime this afternoon," he informed her as he pushed her hair back and kissed her where the corner of her jaw met her neck. "You want to try for another 'spare'?"

She giggled. "I should probably get ready..."

He nibbled her ear, "Always so dutiful. What about your wifely duties?"

Something flickered in Maebh's mind. "Duty," she repeated. She pushed Cailan away and got out of the bed. "This is wrong."

"What?" Cailan asked with a baffled laugh. "We're _married_. This is what we're _supposed_ to do."

"No. No we're not. Where's Anora. Where's Alistair," she tried to gather her will to cast a spell.

"Wait, stop," Cailan scrambled after her. "Think about what you're doing. We've worked so hard for what we have!"

She looked at him, feeling horror pooling in her belly. "We. Don't. Have. Anything."

"Yes, we do!" he grabbed her hands. "We have our love, our children, our people. Ferelden has never been stronger!"

"You are lying to me. This isn't real, I'm a mage and you're... you're dead and we could never..."

Cailan wrapped his hands around her throat and began to strangle her. "You traitorous bitch! After all I've done for you to make this real you're going to just throw it away? You're going to just throw _me_ away?"

Sparks blurred Maebh's vision. She felt her life force leaving her. Panicking, she kneed him in the groin. Cailan let go of her throat and doubled over in pain. She backhanded him across the face, knocking him to the floor. She kicked him in the stomach, then cast petrify and stone fist in short order, shattering him before he could react. She looked around the room, trying to figure out where she really was. She saw a strange dias emerge from the floor. She stumbled over and read the runes inscribed on its surface. The room quaked and shifted, her surroundings shimmered, grew brighter, bright enough to blind her. She closed her eyes tight against the blinding light. When the tremors subsided she opened her eyes again and found herself in the now-familiar Raw Fade. She swallowed and rubbed a hand on her throat, already bearing bruises from Cailan's fingers.

She stumbled along the uneven hillocks until she encountered another creature. He stood by a portal, looking despondent. She blinked, not believing her eyes. "Ni...Niall?" she croaked, throat still not recovered from the attempted strangling.

Niall's look of disbelief mirrored her own. "What? How did _you_ get here?"

Maebh shrugged. "There was... a Sloth Demon? I fell asleep?"

Niall nodded. "Wait, how do I know you're real?"

"Niall, I know you're real because you're the last person in Thedas a demon would conjure to make me want to stay somewhere."

"Yes," he mused, "I suppose you're right at that. But wait, what if the demon is counting on us making that conclusion..."

"I'm going," Maebh whirled in irritation and stomped toward the portal. "I'll come and fetch you once I figure out how to leave."

* * *

Maebh stole a glance at each Templar corpse, dreading the answer but sure it was only a matter of time. Her honey-sweet memories of Cullen haunted her. She prayed he was not possessed. She knew if he was, the demon would have used visions of her to seduce him. The guilt stabbed under her heart, sharp as a knife. She should have listened to Greagoir. She should have avoided him. She should have refused his gifts. She should have denied herself the pleasure of those always too-brief conversations. She imagined what life would have been like, if he had been the first-born son and she had been just a farmer's daughter. Their life together growing olives. Growing old. She was oddly grateful her grief over Cailan was still fresh enough that the Sloth Demon latched onto that fantasy. If it had delved deeper and discovered her infatuation with Cullen she wasn't sure she'd be strong enough to resist.

She had given up. Cullen was nowhere to be found. Maybe he had been reassigned after she left and escaped this horror. She was heartened by this. It had to be true, otherwise she would have come across him or have seen him in the entry hall with Greagoir. She was almost to the door of the Harrowing Chamber when she came across something she never expected.

A corner of the hall was completely cut off by a magical barrier. It glowed with an odd, purple light and a humming sound that made Maebh feel slightly sick. Behind the barrier where a number of dead Templars, each in various states of decay.

And Cullen.


	12. Revelations, Part Two

Author's note: I was planning to put this up later in the week, but what with the DLC getting pushed back indefinitely I thought maybe this might help some of you feel a little better. Is that vain? Ah well.

Circle Tower

Cullen was very much alive.

Maebh stared a moment, not quite believing what she saw. Cullen looked back at her. He was thinner than when last she saw him. He trembled slightly. His eyes were sunken and burned with rage. Her companions stood silent behind her. "Cullen?" she broke the silence, still not believing. "Is that really you?" she slowly walked toward the barrier.

He did not respond, just continued to stare at her with such hatred it made her stomach turn. His eyes raked her body. She suddenly felt ashamed. The robes she had taken to wearing, what once felt so daring and so sensible at the same time, now made her feel vulnerable and sinful. "Cullen..." she placed a hand on the barrier. He continued to stare at her with an unblinking gaze.

"The poor boy is exhausted," Wynne said behind her. "And this cage, I've never seen anything like it. Rest easy," she said gently, "help is here."

He finally spoke. "If anything in you is human, please stop these games and just kill me."

"Don't you recognize me?" Maebh asked softly, cowed by the fury in his face.

"Only too well," he spat. "Sifting through my thoughts... tempting me with the one thing I always wanted but could never have..."

"No," she breathed. "Oh Maker, no..."

"Using my shame against me... my ill advised infatuation with her... a mage, of all things!" he knelt, covering his face as if in prayer, the words forced out through clenched teeth.

"I... I don't..."

"You defeated my brothers," he continued, "but I will stay strong! For my sake...for theirs!"

Maebh smashed her open palm on the barrier. "Cullen! Please..."

"Keep my name out of your mouth, demon," he snarled, "and begone!" He looked up. "Still here? But that always worked before..."

"It's because it's real, Cullen. I'm really here," Maebh choked out around a sob caught in her throat. "I'm not going to hurt you,."

His eyes widened in shock. He quickly recovered, retreating behind the rage. "Don't blame me for being cautious. They caged us like animals, tried to break us. Some turned into _monsters_ and…"

"Be proud," Sten commended him. "You have mastered yourself."

Cullen tore his gaze from Maebh and focused on Sten. Maebh was grateful she was no longer caught at the center of his fury. "Be _proud?_ Proud of what? That I lived_?_ That's nothing to be proud of!" He turned back on Maebh, and she flinched. "And to think, I once thought we were too hard on you mages!"

"Please, don't do this to me..." she begged.

"Only mages have that much power at their fingertips!" he raged, directing the full might of his anger at her. "Only mages are that susceptible to the whisperings of demons!"

"This is a discussion for another time!" Wynne snapped, rescuing both of them. "Where are Irving and the other mages? We must hurry!"

"They are in the Harrowing chamber, but you can't save them. They've been up there for days, the sounds... Oh Maker..."

Maebh stood up straight, defiant. "I will not murder innocents," she declared.

"The only way to be sure, the only way to be safe is to kill them all," the anger subsided, his eyes begged her to do it, to save herself.

"I'm going to get you out of this thing," she began tapping the barrier, trying to find a weakness.

"Don't waste time on me," he waved her away, "Kill Uldred, and I should be able to go free."

Her lip trembled. "I will return."

He looked at her in disgust. "I hope your compassion does not doom us all."

* * *

When she was almost at the door, Sten growled, "I agree with the Templar."

"Bully for you," Maebh deadpanned and pushed open the door to the Harrowing Chamber.

* * *

It occurred to Maebh as she lay flat on her back, trying to blink the stars from her eyes and regain the use of her limbs, that "Harrowing Chamber" was a uniquely appropriate name for this place, even more so than the last time she was there.

When the roaring in her ears finally subsided she heard Wynne cry, "THE LITANY, MAKER DAMN YOU! THE LITANY!"

Maebh jerked to her feet and scanned the room. "Do you accept the gift I offer you," Uldred's sibilant tones curled out at Simeon, one of the mages.

Quickly Maebh recited the words she had committed to memory while sitting next to Niall as he died. The hold on Simeon was broken, and he was able to aid them.

Maebh took a position next to Irving. "What are you doing, child?" he croaked.

"Andraste as my witness I will save you, Irving!" she promised with grim certainty. No matter what happened to the rest of the mages, she refused to let them touch her mentor. She cast glyphs of repulsion and paralysis around them while Sten smashed the abominations with his battleax, Zevran stuck lighting-quick daggers in Uldred's back and Wynne tried to keep them all alive. Maebh thwarted Uldred each time he attempted to convert one of the remaining mages. She felt some of that bloodlust joy again, like she had in the Wilds. This time, at last, this time she would save somebody she cared about.

* * *

Maebh wasn't quite sure how to handle the glow of approval that surrounded her. Both Irving and Greagoir were happy with her at the same time. Alistair stood very close, and Maebh's skin seemed to know exactly how close he was and react with a static electrical charge.

"You have done so much for us, child," Irving beamed.

"I had to," she said simply. "This is my home."

"You'll always have a place here, but I fear your duties will rarely allow you time to stay."

"Never as long as we really want," Greagoir said tightly, clapping her on the shoulder.

They were all silent a moment. "You...we have lost so much," Maebh said, barely above a whisper. The feeling of loss, while no longer unexpected, was still as unpleasant.

"Now, you stop that right now, girl..." started Greagoir.

"He's right," continued Irving, "without you we would have lost _everything_. What was saved, that is due to you."

Maebh smiled, trying to squelch the tears that threatened. "I know. That doesn't make it easy."

"You were always a good girl," Irving took one of her hands and patted it. "Now, you must be on your way, and let us get to preparing to join your army."

"Yes, First Enchanter. But, if I may, there is somebody I'd like to see first."

"Of course, take all the time you need."

Maebh turned to Alistair. "I'll only be a minute."

* * *

She walked quickly through the halls, checking familiar alcoves and posts. She wondered where he would have gone in such a state. She found him in the library, standing near the primal magic section. She remembered spending many hours there, as she was always drawn to the primal forces. He used to watch over her as she studied. He would turn a blind eye when she was engrossed in a particularly interesting passage and missed the bedtime bell. Sometimes they would sneak conversations when she went to look for another book. When she was feeling especially bold, she would "accidentally" allow the back of her hand to brush against his. She burned with shame and guilt. These memories she held close to her heart now tainted, twisted by the demon that had used them as a weapon against this man.

"I'm sorry," she said to Cullen, her heart cracking with the knowledge.

He turned his gaze to her, but he did not see her. His eyes were hollow, somewhere else, some time else. "I wish I could have gone with them," he said. "To fight."

"They don't know," Maebh said, drawn to him by some undeniable force, "how special you are. I do. I won't forget you."

He stared at her without seeing, and said nothing.

She swallowed. "I am studying the healing arts. I'll find someway to make you whole. I swear it. Cullen, do you hear me? I swear it!"

He looked away. She turned and ran as fast as she could out of the tower.

* * *

Maebh bolted out of the tower like she was running for her life. "Ho there, look out!" Alistair grabbed her wrist as she passed him. The momentum caused her to pivot and run into him. He caught her before she tripped and fell. "What's wrong?" he asked, reaching for his sword.

"Oh! No, nothing like that!" she took a moment to catch her breath. "I was just getting this... panicky feeling. I spent most of my life trying to get out of there and I guess I just got that feeling again. Only this time I was allowed to leave, so I did. Does that make any sense?"

"More than you realize. I grew up in the Chantry, remember? I think they specialize in making children feel like that. Come on," he said, taking her hand, "we have to wait for the ferry to Redcliffe. Everybody else is already on their way or on the other side. I volunteered to wait for you. And, I found a lovely spot to wait, right over here," he led her to a grassy knoll by the docks.

It was a beautiful day, with bright sunshine and a slight breeze carried the smell of fresh water off the lake. Big, fluffy clouds scudded across the deep blue sky. Maebh sat cross-legged in the grass and leaned back on her elbows, tilting her face to the sun. "I used to be so jealous of people who could do this."

"Fight darkspawn?"

"No," she smiled, "just...sit outside."

They were silent a while. Alistair reached into his pack for something. "Here," he said, handing it to her. "Do you know what this is?"

Maebh looked at the object he handed her. It seemed to be some kind of flower. She turned it over in her hands, trying to find the secret. Surely he was showing it to her because it was some deadly object cleverly disguised as a flower. "Well...at first glance it appears to be a rose..." she said, fiddling with the leaves.

He laughed. "That's because it is."

"Oh!" she said, suddenly embarrassed. She looked at it again, accepting it for what it was. The petals were a deep, glossy velvet red. The scent fresh and sweet. She had never seen a real rose before. She had never been given any flower before. "It's...lovely," she said and tried to hand it back to him.

"Um, actually I wanted you to keep it," he looked down.

Maebh looked at him, not understanding. "But why?"

His lips twitched, suddenly bashful. "I picked it in Lothering. I remember thinking, how could something so beautiful exist in a place with so much despair and ugliness? I probably should have left it alone, but I couldn't. The darkspawn would come and their taint would just destroy it. So I've had it ever since. I want you to have it, it reminded me of you. I want you to know what a rare and lovely thing you are."

Maebh turned to him. He was still looking down and did not see her as she snaked under his face to kiss him. He made a surprised sound in his throat, but did not push her away. She broke away and breathed, "Thank you."

She was going to kiss him again when he stopped her. "There's something you need to know."

She sat back on her heels. "What is it."

"I told you that I knew Arl Eamon wasn't my father, remember? Well, actually I do know who my father was. He was... King Maric."

Maebh clutched fistfuls of grass on either side of her. Surely the ground was about to give way. "Good King Maric?" she repeated, not believing.

"Yes, you could say that," he drawled. "I need to tell you now because when we go to Redcliffe, well, they know and it might come up."

"Heir... his brother... Why didn't you mention this before?" Maebh's feelings flitted from one to the next, not settling anywhere.

"It didn't come up?"

"Didn't come up? IT DIDN'T COME UP?" her mind was flooded with prior opportunities he could have volunteered this information.

"Because I didn't want you to treat me any differently," he admitted. "Once people find out they either coddle me or try to put in my place. Even Duncan kept me out of the fighting because of it."

"That's why you looked so familiar to me! Maker's Breath, you look just like him!" Maebh stopped when Alistair began to look even more miserable. She changed the subject. "Doesn't this make you the heir?"

This did not lighten his misery. "Yes. It's always been made perfectly clear to me that I was in no way in line for the throne. And I was happy with that, I never wanted it. I still don't. I just want to be Alistair, Grey Warden. Not Alistair, King Grey Warden."

Maebh sat in silence, several scenarios running through her mind. Alistair had to be king, this she was sure. The Theirin bloodline could not be allowed to die with Ferelden still recovering from the occupation. This gave her even better cause to kill the Teryn, who was in the process of usurping the throne. This made her blossoming affection for him creepy. Would she have to hand him over to Anora as well? She decided this would be better dealt with after the Blight. She looked at Alistair again, deep in his own misery.

"So... You're not just a bastard, but a royal bastard?" she tried.

He laughed, "I should use that one!" Then, more serious. "I suppose the real reason I didn't mention it was because I was hoping you would like me for me. I want you to judge me on my own merits. Not... _his_."

Maebh smiled a tight-lipped smile and put her hand on his cheek. "I hope you're not offended when I say the similarities are almost entirely cosmetic."

"Not at all."


	13. We May be Through with the Past, But

Redcliffe

Maebh was in a great deal of danger. She remembered this man. This man was Cailan's favorite uncle. He used to play with them when they were children. This man knew the Teryn. He may recognize her. He may believe that Alistair had nothing to do with Cailan's death, but what if he suspected her? She carefully avoided eye contact.

Luckily, Bann Teagan was so overwhelmed at the situation of his small town and grateful that to see Alistair alive that he did not pay her much attention. Maebh breathed a sigh of relief as she darted out of the chantry.

"What was that all about?" Alistair asked accusingly.

"What was what about?" Maebh smiled innocently as she glanced behind to make sure Teagan hadn't followed.

He narrowed his eyes. "You think I'm stupid, don't you."

Maebh crossed her arms. "You know that's not true."

"The way you were acting in there? Let me guess: another 'childhood friend'?"

Anger flashed hot in Maebh's chest. "Exactly _what_ are you accusing me of, you..." she started.

"Come, come now," Zevran said to Alistair as he slid an arm around Maebh's shoulders. "Jealousy does not become you, my Warden friend." Without giving Alistair time to respond, Zevran turned and walked toward the blacksmith with Maebh still under his arm. "I take it you did not tell him about the Templar Cullen?" he asked in a low tone.

"There's nothing to tell. And I would appreciate it if you remembered that."

"Discretion happens to be one of my many talents, dear lady. As does a rather libertine view of," he flourished a hand, "relationships, shall we say? Ah, but we have reached our destination. We really must continue this discussion at a less mission-of-deadly-importance time." He bowed extravagantly and kissed her knuckles. She giggled and matched his theatricality by pretending to swoon, and even Alistair seemed a bit calmer when she smiled at him.

* * *

Maebh paced by the fire in front of the chantry. "Are you sure we haven't forgotten anything?"

"Well, let's see, you promised the blacksmith that you'd save his daughter, so now he's agreed to outfit the militia..." Alistair started counting on his fingers.

"And we tricked Ser Perth into thinking those amulets were holy," grumped Leliana.

"Ah, yes," continued Alistair, "we also gave him the lamp oil to burn, and convinced Dwynn to fight..."

"And the elf," Sten had actually approved of that.

"And, most impressively, the bartender Lloyd," completed Zevran.

Maebh continued to pace. "This is all well and good, but I must admit I feel uneasy. I wish any of these people could give us a better idea of what we're up against. Their descriptions have been lacking, to say the least."

"Strategy? Why start now?" Sten glowered.

* * *

Maebh's fears were justified. It wasn't just that the undead were unlike anything she had battled up to this point, it was also that they came in wave upon wave upon wave with no respite. She had been avoiding lyrium potion ever since she had been detoxified, as the dusty smell had been making her stomach turn ever since. But now, cycling through spells so fast she'd lost track of which ones she had been trying to combine, she'd been forced to drink so many potions she was sure her tongue would be stained blue for a week.

Head pounding and stomach churning, she glanced around for her companions. To her horror, she saw that all were unconscious. She cursed herself for brushing off Wynne's offer of teaching her a revival spell earlier. She quickly cast mind blast to buy herself some time. She was rewarded with a burst of inspiration.

"The knights!" she shouted to herself, as nobody else could hear. She began to jog up the hill. She didn't want to run too fast, otherwise she would be long gone by the time the undead recovered from the spell. She danced at the foot of the hill for a few moments while they slowly shuffled to their feet. Somehow they saw her with their empty eye sockets and began the pursuit. She charged up the hill. "ON YOUR GUARD, PERTH!" she cried, hoping they could hear her through the fires still raging from the lamp oil.

Despite her attempts at warning, the knights still took a moment to comprehend what they saw. Maebh noted their confusion and veered off toward the lamp oil fire. She ran as fast as she could through the flames. She circled around the edge of the fire, taking up a position behind the knights. She cast arcane bolts at the undead while they stumbled around in the fire and knights began to cut them down. As soon as the last was slain, Maebh turned to Ser Perth. "I'm going to go back down there and draw the next wave, be ready."

"Yes, my lady, but what if you should stumble?"

"Good question. I'll...uh... I know! I'll send up a fireball. You know, a big fiery ball thing? You'll see it, don't worry. If I fall I'll send up a fireball and you will know to come down towards the town square, understood?"

Perth nodded.

"Excellent." Maebh dashed back down the hill. She felt a thrill and found herself giggling. When she arrived at the bonfire, there was nothing. She hopped in place, waiting for the undead to crawl out of the lake or wherever it was they were coming from. She heard the familiar gurgling croak and smelled the stench of rotting bones and pond muck. She darted back up the hill.

Halfway to the top, it occurred to her that repeatedly sprinting up and down that steep of an incline was more difficult than she anticipated. It was then that she tripped and fell, scraping her knees terribly. She was not able to catch herself, and tumbled the whole way to the bottom.

Surrounded by undead on all sides, hobbled by a twisted knee, she quickly cast fireball. It would take the knights longer to get down the hill, encumbered with armor as they were. She covered her neck with her arms as they clawed at her, and tried to gather her thoughts. Then she remembered: waking nightmare! She struck the crowd with a spell that addled their senses, causing them all to forget about her and some to attack each other. She was crawling away from them by the time Perth and his knights got to the bottom.

After putting down the latest wave, Perth lifted her onto a split rail fence. "Not the most comfortable, my lady, but it will keep you out from under foot."

"Thank you, ser," she said, wincing as she touched her battered knee. "Do you think that's the last of them?" Her question was answered by a gurgling croak. "Blast it."

"What would you have us do?" Perth asked.

"Gather your men somewhere I can see them. I shall cast some area spells. That should make your job easier."

Perth struck his right fist to his breast plate and bowed his head. "As you wish."

As soon as the knights were in position, Maebh cast blizzard at the lake shore, slowing the progress of the undead and killing some of them before they made it through. She then cast tempest around the knights, hoping her control of the lightning would be enough to keep it from being attracted to the knights' plate armor.

Her strategy weakened the undead enough that some of them died without ever tasting a blade. Perth jogged back over to her. "How long shall we wait to be sure, if that was the last wave?"

Maebh held up her hand for a few minutes, listening. "No, that should be it. There was never that much time between waves before."

"Excellent. Shall I help you into the chantry, to have your wounds tended?"

"That won't be necessary, there are many in far worse condition than I. I have my staff, I can support my weight on that. If you wouldn't mind helping me down, though, I would appreciate that."

* * *

Maebh hobbled into the chantry. "Oh Thank the Maker, it's over?" Teagan asked as he grabbed her around the waist to support her. "Come, we must have your wounds tended."

"No," she waved him off in irritation. "The others are in worse shape."

"The healers will see to them. I am afraid my medical skills are not up to the task of mending bruised ribs, my lady. But my experiences hunting have taught me how to patch up skinned knees, at least." He gently helped her down onto a cot. He knelt in front of her and begun cleaning her wounds. Maebh sucked the air through her teeth at the sting. She had become so accustomed to painless magical healing that she forgot what this felt like. In fact, the last time anybody had cleaned a wound using a tincture like that had been...

Oh Maker. It had been Teagan when she was seven years old. She had fallen out of a tree in one of the palace gardens where she and Cailan had been playing hide and seek. She was afraid Cailan would get in trouble. They weren't supposed to play in that garden, which is why Cailan had suggested it. Teagan had bandaged her scrapes and swore not to tell. He had kept his promise, too. She started to shake.

"My lady?" he asked, concerned. "Are you sure you're not in shock?"

"It's nothing. I just... these robes are excellent when I'm fighting and running and keeping the blood pumping, you know, but now I realize it's quite chilly in here," she said quickly.

"Of course!" He reached behind her and wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. "Is that better?"

She nodded, afraid to speak. He left to get a splint. Maebh took a deep breath and rubbed her temples. He hadn't recognized her yet. Blessed Andraste.

Teagan returned. "You know," he said with a rakish grin as he wrapped her knee. "Usually when I am confronted with a lady's bare knees like this it's under much more pleasant conditions."

Maebh blushed. "I'm sure. Your wife must be very lucky."

He laughed. "Oh, I'm not married. And you?"

She furrowed her brow. "I'm a mage," she said flatly, unsure of where he was heading.

"So? A mage can marry, provided the man is sufficiently brave," his hand lingered on her knee.

"I... uh..." Maebh was so surprised at this sudden turn in events that she was speechless.

"You know," he continued smoothly, "I don't believe I caught your name earlier, Miss Amell."

"That is my name. Amell."

"I meant your first name."

"Maebh."

Teagan's brows rose several inches. "Maebh? Spelled the old way?" Maebh felt panic rising. She was caught. She had walked right into his trap and was caught. Teagan continued, "Maker blast it I should have realized..." he started to get up.

"Wait!" she grabbed his hand. "Please, I had nothing to do with... I haven't spoken to..."

He yanked his hand out of her grasp. "Wait here." He left again. Maebh covered her face with her hands in despair. What was to become of her? She looked around wildly. Maybe she could escape, run off into the woods and hide there until she could reunite with her companions. No, that was a terrible idea. They'd launch a search party and Teagan would surely be involved. No, she couldn't leave. She couldn't take the risk of Teagan revealing her identity to Alistair. She felt another wave of despair. Alistair. He could never accept who she really was.

She felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked up to see Teagan sitting next to her. He leaned over and whispered in her ear, "I know you had nothing to do with what happened at Ostagar. I just wanted to give you this," he handed her a package wrapped in a bit of oil cloth and tied with a thin leather strap. "Now, if you'll excuse me, my lady," he said loudly, leaning away, "I have my duties to attend to." And he was gone.

Maebh looked at the package, confused. She glanced around, but nobody was paying attention to her. She untied the the strap. Inside the package was a thick stack of letters, each sealed with a royal seal, each bearing the simple address "_Maybe_". Fingers trembling, she opened the top letter.

_Maybe,_

_I have just returned from my tour of Ferelden with Father. After we left the Circle Tower, we went to Orzammar. Did you know they built their city over a river of molten rock? Father and I thought that was a marvelous idea. It never gets cold. Your father said it was foolish, he said what would happen if a bridge collapses? What a fuddy-duddy. Also, we got to go to a Proving, which is like a tournament but is religious somehow. I wish the Chantry had Provings. It would make services much more interesting. I would fight in them! Imagine, fighting in the Chantry? Perhaps, once you've passed your Harrowing and I get you out of there, we can start that tradition. We can fight together! It will be glorious!_

_I have to go soon, my tutor will be arriving shortly. What a bore. Expect more letters, though. I know they don't let you out, and that you don't get to see much of the world. I'll tell you about everything I do and see, and that way you won't miss anything. _

_I'm afraid I will be missing something, though. You. I cannot wait until we are together again. I love you._

_ Yours, ever,_

_ ~C._

Maebh realized that she had stopped breathing. She gasped, and blinked away a few tears. She looked at the pack again. Dozens of letters, the letters Cailan had written to her for ten years. They were safe. Teagan had kept their secret. The knowledge was bittersweet. It did not make much difference, now. Teagan returned.

"How did you..." she started, feeling a warm rush of relief and gratitude for her old friend.

He sat down and smiled sadly. "Ten years ago, give or take, when they returned from their tour, I visited Denerim to take Cailan on a hunting trip. It was something we did fairly often.

"While in the forest he told me that you were still alive, that you had been taken to the Circle Tower. I didn't understand why Loghain had lied to us. I still don't, really, but he's done so much worse since then I wonder if I ever understood that man. At any rate, Cailan had this letter, and asked me if I could deliver it to the tower. I told him I would, but later I thought better of it.

"I realized it would just cause you needless pain. He was so certain that he was going to get you out, but I've seen better laid plans than that fall apart. Why torment you with an illusion of freedom? You were always more sensible than he. Aside from that, it was dangerous. Apprentices are not supposed to have any contact with the outside world. And if people started to suspect that you somehow had the Crown Prince in thrall, well..."

"That nearly happened anyway," Maebh said quietly. "Somebody found out that I had spoken to him in secret when they visited. Good King Maric and the Teryn came. The Teryn wanted me to be made Tranquil. Irving and Greagoir defended me, though."

Teagan shook his head. "Of all the nonsense," he said bitterly.

Maebh looked him dead in the eyes. "Teagan, nobody knows but you. Greagoir knows who my father is but he doesn't know about Cailan and me. Alistair knows about Cailan and me but he doesn't know who my father is. You're the only one. Please," she grabbed his hand, "you cannot tell _anybody_."

"How does Alistair know?"

Maebh blushed and bit her lip. "At Ostagar, we were... together."

Teagan looked surprised for a moment, "The reports I read said that you arrived with Duncan the day before the battle."

"That is correct," Maebh began to feel silly.

Teagan shook his head and began to laugh, "Well, you certainly don't waste time, do you?"

She pursed her lips primly. "It was he who summoned me. What was I supposed to do, defy the King's orders?"

"Oh, no, we couldn't have that," he teased, laughing harder. "Tell me, do you always come when called?"

"Teagan!" she gasped, eyes wide. "Why, you..." and she slapped him on the arm.

"Now, now, no need to be violent, dear lady. I'm sure you were only doing your duty." He sighed and wiped a tear from his eye. "You know," he said, more serious, "you have to tell Alistair who you are."

She looked down at the pile of letters. "Why? It's not like we're going anywhere. A man in your position might be able to take a me as a wife but the Bannorn would never accept a mage queen."

"Worry about that when it comes. For now, he deserves your honesty."

She sighed. "I promise I will, but please let me do it my own way. I'll tell him when he can handle it."

Teagan shrugged. "You know him better than I," he stood up. "Now get some rest, tomorrow we have to deal with the more immediate problem."

"Teagan, wait."

"Yes?"

"Thank you. For everything."

He blew a kiss and left.


	14. The Past is Not Through with Us

Redcliffe

"I don't like this," hissed Maebh.

Teagan shrugged helplessly. "Nor do I, but what other choice do I have?"

Maebh glared at him. "This is a bad idea. How can you trust her," she glanced back at Isolde as she spoke of her, and realized the woman was directing a look of withering jealousy at her. "Oh Maker. Teagan, you didn't..." Maebh's lip curled.

He began to look irritated. "You're going to lecture me, now? Brother-jumper."

Maebh jerked back as if he had slapped her and blinked. "That was unfair, and you know it."

"Here," he palmed something into her hand, changing the subject. "This is my signet ring."

"That's a little sudden, isn't it?"

"Pay attention, this is important. It will allow you to access the secret..."

"The passage beneath the windmill?" Maebh interrupted.

"Maker's Breath, how did you know about that?" Teagan was baffled.

"Your sister told me. I was very, very young but it made an impression. She said I'd need to know someday," Maebh shrugged. "I have no idea why she told me, really."

Teagan looked thoughtful. "She did always like you best." He straightened his shoulders and patted her arm. "I'm going now. See you soon?"

Maebh grimaced. "If you're still _alive_."

* * *

"So, what do you think is really going on here?" Alistair murmured to her as they crept through the tunnel.

"Something wicked. I'm sure that bitch has something to do with it. Honestly, what did Eamon ever see in her?"

"Youth? Vitality? Grace? Style?" interjected Zevran. "There are many things at which that the ladies of Ferelden excel, but the ladies of Orlais can be quite beguiling in their own right."

"Yes, apparently we are all old, lifeless, clumsy frumps," Maebh rolled her eyes.

"Eh, don't feel bad," consoled Oghren. "He doesn't mean anything by it."

Maebh was about to give a bitter retort on the nature of sarcasm when she stopped suddenly. "Do you hear that?" They all stopped. "Someone's in trouble." She ran ahead and shocked the undead surrounding an occupied cell. "Maker's Breath these things stink," she mopped the gore from her face and turned to look at what the undead had been attacking.

She tried to speak, but the words turned to ashes in her mouth. Her head twitched, as if she was trying to look away, but couldn't. "What is it? What's wrong?" Alistair and the others caught up to her.

It was Jowan who broke the silence first. "I guess you're just as surprised as I am," he said, with a shadow of his old smirk.

Maebh blinked. "How? How are you still alive?"

"I should be asking you the same thing, I thought all the Grey Wardens were wiped out along with the King, when they betrayed him."

Shock gave way to anger. Maebh slammed her hand against the bars, and Jowan flinched. "The Wardens did _not_ betray Cailan! It was the Teryn who left us all to die," her eyes blazed with fury.

Jowan shook his head. "Teryn Loghain. That's how I got here."

"Explain yourself."

"I was nearly all the way to Denerim before I got caught. Loghain took me off the Templars and told me I had a choice: either go back to the tower or come here and poison the Arl."

Maebh wrapped her hand around the bars, feeling dizzy. "He sent you to... why would they ever let you in?"

"The Arl's son, Connor, had been showing signs of magic and the Arlessa didn't want to send him to the tower. She brought me in to tutor him. She wanted me to teach him just enough to hide it. That's how I got close to the family."

Maebh's knuckles turned white. This didn't make sense. A phantom of a memory she had tried to forget. The Teryn standing over her. The Teryn slapping her face. The Teryn turning her over to the Knight-Commander, recommending she be made Tranquil. "The Teryn knew this? That Connor had magic? And he sent you here to help keep him out of the tower?"

"No, he sent me here to poison the Arl."

"Yes, of course," her grip relaxed, the phantom retreated. "Wait, would you agree to do this?"

Jowan waved his arms out in an expression of innocence. "He told me it was the right thing to do! He said the Arl was planning a rebellion against the Queen and that I could redeem myself. I was so anxious to do the right thing, to prove to everybody that I wasn't a screw up."

"But the undead, the things attacking the village, did he tell you to do that, too?"

Jowan blanched. "I had nothing to do with that, you must believe me! Somehow Connor summoned... I don't know what but I didn't teach him how to do it, I swear!"

"Like you swore to me that you didn't practice blood magic?"

Jowan slumped against the bars, last vestiges of bravado gone. "I've been running through all the decisions I have made to get me to this point and I've realized that at each point I made the best choice I could at the time. There isn't one thing I would have done differently."

Maebh gritted her teeth. "So, you would still have lied to me? Betrayed me?"

Jowan set his jaw grimly. "I did what I had to do."

"I asked you if you had practiced blood magic. You lied straight to my face, Jowan! I trusted you, and you lied straight to my face!" Maebh felt frustration clutch at her insides. "After everything, after all the things you did for me why wouldn't you let me help you?"

Jowan shrugged helplessly. "What, like eating half of your olives or not telling Senior Enchanter Hugh about the poems you wrote about him? It's not exactly on the same level."

Maebh's face softened. "Maybe not, but telling Cailan where to find me was."

Jowan's head jerked up. "I never told you! I never told anybody!"

"I know. But, Jowan, how else would he have known where to find me? I always knew it was you. I'm not really sure why you thought you had to keep a secret from me, but I respected that." Her heart twisted with regret. "Why didn't you tell me? I could have helped you."

"I guess I was trying to protect you. I didn't want you to know what I had become." He turned his face away.

Maebh started to pick the lock, "I'm getting you out of here."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Alistair placed his hand on hers.

Maebh smacked his hand away. "Yes."

"Maebh, stop," Jowan backed away from the cell door. "I'm not going with you."

"Then you can go somewhere else. Get out of here. Go to Orlais like you said, or, or..."

"No. No more running. No more hiding. No more lying. I'm going to come clean and accept the consequences of my actions."

Maebh shook her head and frowned, fighting tears. "No, I'll figure something out. We'll figure something out you'll come with me and..." she took a deep breath and bit her fist. "Damn you," she hissed. "Damn all of you," she froze the lock until it shattered. "There, I've given you some options."

She turned and walked out of the dungeon.

* * *

When Maebh was seven years old she spent most of her time in Denerim. Her days were spent studying history, military tactics, geography, cartography, and fencing. She was to be her father's second when she was older. Her free time was taken up by Cailan. He was the Crown Prince, after all, and he desired her company. Not that she minded, he was an excellent playmate. He had a tendency to get her into pickles but also was very good at talking them out of trouble. And sometimes Teagan would come, and Teagan was Maebh's hero. He was like a grownup, but fun! He would listen to them and play with them and keep their secrets and tell them stories about his wonderful adventures! On one occasion, Maebh solemnly informed Teagan that since it had already been decided that Cailan should marry somebody else, Maebh had decided to marry Teagan. Teagan told her he thought it was a wonderful idea, but he wouldn't make her promise, in case she later changed her mind.

One game they would often play was tumbling. Cailan was an excellent tumbler, and so that became their very favorite game. Maebh wasn't very good at tumbling. She always felt like she couldn't see where she was going and was afraid to fall. Once, as they were trapped inside for an entire, endless, dreary rainy day, Teagan spent the afternoon patiently teaching Maebh how to somersault without flinching.

Maebh felt sick as another happy memory crumbled. Teagan danced under the demon's control, his face twisted in a mockery of a smile. She pushed those thoughts away. Focus. Analyze. What did the demon want?

The demon's purpose was difficult to determine. At first, all it seemed to want was to make Isolde miserable. Maebh was not fooled, though. She knew this momentary alliance was just a happy coincidence. But not a Hunger or Rage Demon, surely. Either of those would not have the patience for multiple possessions. And the undead swarms on the village did not appear to be the work of a Sloth demon, it was all a bit too energetic. However, it was also a bit too obvious for a Pride Demon. Maebh counted her blessings that it wasn't a Pride Demon she now faced, whose subtle machinations would be much harder to trace.

No, this had to be a Desire Demon. Maebh grimaced. A Desire Demon was what tormented Cullen, as well. But Connor was too young to have been seduced like that. So the question was, what did Connor want? "The Arl," she said suddenly.

The boy's face darkened, he roared in his demon-fractured voice, "No! Nobody speaks to the Arl!" and all Hell broke loose.

The demon directed the guards and Teagan to attack. At first, Maebh was too shocked to respond. She cast stone armor on herself quailed as Teagan bore down on her with his blade.

"On your feet, you sodding duster," roared Oghren as he bashed Teagan with his ax. "You think this is nap time?"

Maebh's head snapped up, she growled and cast a repulsion glyph that sent Teagan flying. A dark well of rage erupted within her. Her peripheral vision clouded, all she saw was Teagan. She bore down on him, casting lightning after arcane bolt after chain lightning after rock fist. Her blood roared in her ears. She lost all sense and reason, and began to beat him with her staff. She wanted to pulverize him, reduce him to a bloody smear on the floor.

He lay at her feet, bloodied and unconscious. Her vision cleared, she realized somebody had taken her staff AND was holding arms back. The roaring died down in her ears as she looked at her knuckles, which were split and bruised. "Maebh?" Alistair turned her around and brushed the hair from her face. He looked concerned. "Maebh, are you alright?"

Maebh realized she was shaking violently and tears were running down her face. She struggled to catch her breath. Slowly she realized everybody was staring at her. Isolde cautiously approached her. "What do you mean, 'How many times'?"

Maebh blinked. "What?"

"You kept shouting, 'How many times'," Alistair said gently.

Maebh felt hollow. "I don't know," she said softly. "Will he be alright?" she asked Zevran, who was examining Teagan.

"Well," he said, peeling back Teagan's eyelids, "He'll be sore for quite a while, but he'll survive."

"Oh," Maebh took a deep, shuddering breath, "thank the Maker. Um," she said, turning her attention to Isolde, "Where's Connor?"

Isolde blanched. "Please, please don't hurt him."

Maebh felt the cold fury burning within her. "You have already made that decision for me, my lady."

* * *

The boy looked up at her. She clenched her fists and her teeth. Think clearly. Focus. Analyze. Her knuckles still smarted where they had cracked against Teagan's skull.

This boy was not her. His situation was very different. For example, she had not been possessed by a demon. The plan to hide her magic had been carried out by a pair of precociously mischievous children, not a desperate mother. Her father, once discovering the truth... Maebh despaired of what would happen to this boy if Eamon responded the same way.

She held the dagger in her hand. She knew what she was supposed to do. "I can't. It isn't right." She turned away from the child, and sat down in the corner facing the wall.

Somebody sat down beside her. "Copper for your thoughts?" Zevran asked quietly.

"You'd be overcharged if I let you pay that much," Maebh replied, head in hands.

"I am more than willing to take that risk."

Maebh slid her hands down her face and propped her chin in her hands. "I'm trying to remember the courses I took in Demonology, and kicking myself because I spent more time writing poems about the instructor than actually listening."

Zevran leaned closer, "Oh, you are a poetess? Might I hear some of this verse sometime?"

"It's not what you think. My favorites were titled 'Ew, It's Hugh' and 'Screw You, Hugh'," Maebh shook her head.

Zevran laughed heartily, "Comic poetry is the very best kind, my dear. But you're right, that is a discussion for another time."

"Those are starting to pile up, aren't they?"

Zevran arched an eyebrow and nodded.

Maebh sighed. "Anyway, I seem to recall that if a person willingly gives him or herself to a demon, the rules are different than if the demon takes that person by force. I think it was something about the Fade..." her forehead wrinkled and she frowned, deep in thought. "WILL!" she shouted, jumped up, and ran down the stairs.

* * *

Maebh ran down the stairs. "Isolde! Teagan!" she cried, bursting in through the door.

They jumped, startled by her entrance. Maebh felt a queasy stab of guilt at the sight of the lump on Teagan's forehead. But her news was too good to be slowed down. "His willpower was not broken, we can free him from the demon's grasp yet!" she said, flush with excitement.

Teagan held a handkerchief to a bit of blood trickling from his split lip. "How so?"

Maebh was so happy she found a loophole, she began to gesticulate wildly. "You see, there are two ways it can occur. The first, and unfortunately more common, method is for the demon to take possession by force. In those cases, the possessed person's will is broken, and there is no hope," Maebh stopped a moment as Isolde made a strangled sound in the back of her throat. "But, wait, let me finish! The other method is when the person _willingly_ gives his or her body over to the demon. I believe this is what happened with Connor. That means his will is still intact, and we can save him!"

Isolde covered her face with her hands. "Oh, why would he do such a thing! Why would he consort with demons willingly!"

Maebh swallowed. "The Arl was sick before this happened, yes? Connor says the demon told him that if he gave himself willingly to her, she could save him."

Isolde looked at Maebh over the tips of her fingers. "Her? I don't understand. The demon is a woman?"

"It's... complicated. Connor described it as a "mean lady". Demons are actually genderless but if it is a Desire Demon we're dealing with, they normally take the form of a woman. At any rate, all we have to do is get me into the Fade and I can confront the demon directly."

"How are you going to do that?" Alistair asked, having finally caught up with her. "We don't have nearly enough lyrium. And even with Morrigan and Wynne, you still need more mages."

"I can help," a voice came from behind them. All turned to see Jowan, filthy and painfully thin, standing in the doorway. "I know a way for you to get into the Fade, Maebh."

"How did he get out? What are you doing here!" demanded Isolde, fury etched in her face.

Maebh felt all the blood run out of her body and into the floor. "What are you doing here?" she asked, adding softly, "I thought you were going to get out."

"I... got a key from one of the corpses that attacked me, of course. And I came up here because I wanted to help any way I could, to finally put things right for once."

Maebh began to feel uneasy. "Wait, how exactly do you plan to do this?"

Jowan tried to meet her gaze, but kept looking away. "It's... it is blood magic."

"No," Alistair sad flatly. "No blood magic. It's illegal."

Maebh raised her hand. "As Grey Wardens, we have the leeway to use whatever means necessary. The Chantry laws don't apply to us."

"But this has nothing to do with..."

"Let's just hear him out. Jowan, tell me exactly what you're planning."

Jowan shifted his weight and cleared his throat. "You see, I could get you into the Fade right now, if I had enough blood."

"How much do you need?" Isolde asked with desperation in her eyes. "I want this over with as soon as possible."

"Quite a bit, actually," Jowan looked considerably less sure of himself. "The person … providing the blood would be killed."

"Take mine," Isolde strode over to Jowan, grabbing a dagger from one of the fallen guards, "Right now. Take my blood. I will give my life to save my child."

"Wait!" Teagan followed her, "Surely, this is not necessary!"

"Have you lost your mind?" Alistair demanded, "You're not seriously considering this, are you?"

Maebh looked at Jowan. She saw the need in his eyes. It was only a matter of time until he was turned over to the tower again. They would kill him, or worse. How many more chances would he have? She could give him this, maybe his last chance to truly redeem himself before he is lost forever.

She felt Alistair bristling with outrage behind her. No. No this was not the way. This time, she could not help him. "I'm sorry, Jowan. I can't."

He hung his head.

She turned to Isolde. "We can take the ferry to the tower. They have the mages and lyrium we need. Plus, they owe me. It will take about a day to travel but that's a risk we will have to take."

* * *

Maebh stood before the Desire Demon. She writhed predictably. Maebh was not impressed. She tried to bargain with her. Maebh was not swayed. Maebh turned away from her. "You think I want power?" she asked, unsheathing a small blade and concealing it in her sleeve. "You think I want sex?" she said, turning around again and approaching the the demon. "You've been dealing with males too long," she slid one hand on the back of the demon's head. "You have no," she slipped the blade between the demon's ribs, "idea," she twisted the blade, "what I want." The demon crumpled at her feet.

* * *

Maebh awoke with a start. The stone floor was cold beneath her. The flickering torches blinded her, she groaned as she closed her eyes. Her head ached. Her throat was dry. She swallowed, and felt a blade against her throat. She slowly opened her eyes. A man stood over her, holding a sword. Her vision was blurred, and she couldn't make out who he was. "Cullen?" she asked, confused.

"No," a familiar voice drawled. "Not even close."

"Oh, thank the Maker, Alistair," she pushed on the flat of the blade. "How is Connor?"

"He's fine," Alistair sheathed his sword and gave her his hand. "All things considered."

"And the Arl?"

He shook his head. "We're going to have to find the Urn of Sacred Ashes."

"Oh, good," she said, rubbing her head, "I was starting to get bored with things going so smoothly."


	15. The Centre Cannot Hold

Author's Note: We're more than halfway through here, and I wanted to get some input from those of you reading this. Are there any questions you really need to know the answers to, things that if I don't address it in later chapters it will affect your enjoyment of the piece? I have a few revelations planned but I'd like to know if I'm overlooking anything and plan accordingly. You can leave it in a review or pm or email or however you like. Thanks!

* * *

Denerim

"I don't understand. I thought she was going to love me for who I am, accept me with open arms! Isn't that what family is supposed to do?"

Maebh stared at Alistair, awestruck. Family? People still have families? "There are many things that family is _supposed_ to do. Few ever live up to the ideal," she said darkly.

"What was that?"

"Alistair, everybody is looking out for themselves!" Frustration made her words sharper, crueler. "The sooner you figure that out, the better."

"You're one to talk," he glowered.

"What?"

"You have long-lost friends and relatives popping up in every town we go. How can they possibly remember you, you've been in the tower for sixteen years!"

Fear boiled inside her. "You. Have. NO. Idea. What. You're. Talking. About," she gritted out between clenched teeth.

He stepped forward, uncomfortably close, and stared down at her, "How can I? You won't tell me anything."

She pushed him away, trembling with rage and guilt. "I'll tell you when you _deserve_ to know."

"Deserve to know? After all we've been through together, I don't _deserve_ to know. After all I've told you, I don't _deserve_ to know?!"

"Don't you dare," Maebh advanced on him, no longer cognizant of how much smaller she was than he. He backed away, intimidated. "Don't you even _dare_. You know for a fact you would _never_ have told me _anything_ if we hadn't gone to Redcliffe."

Alistair exhaled, defeated. "Fine! Fine," adding, bitterly, "Your wish is my command."

* * *

Back at camp, Maebh took out the packet of letters. She had been slowly reading them whenever she had a moment alone. They had been shuffled out of order, and Maebh had despaired of ever organizing them coherently. She had assumed that Cailan would be as cavalier about dating them as he was about everything else. He surprised her, though. After the first letter, each one was meticulously dated.

_22 Umbralis, 9:23 _

_Maybe,_

_I have just returned from hunting with Teagan. We killed a bear, and are going to eat it for supper! I wish you could have been there. Teagan said he doubted you would like to come hunting with us, but I said of course you would. When I get you out, you will be my constant companion, just as we were before you left. _

_The forest was so beautiful; I was moved to write this so I could describe it to you. The bark of the trees was so white they nearly glowed and the leaves were a deep gold. The air was crisp and sweet as a fresh apple. The hunt went perfectly. I would like to describe it to you in detail, but Teagan told me that a young lady probably would not like to read graphic descriptions of the slaughter of a bear. Please reply and let me know if this is not the case. You haven't found a way to reply to any of my other letters, but I know you are resourceful and clever and smarter than any of those fools who keep you locked up in that terrible place. If there is a way to get word to me, I know you will find it. _

_Until then, I remain_

_Yours, ever_

_~C._

Maebh looked up to see Leliana standing over her. "Oh," she said, folding the letter, "forgive me I was preoccupied."

"I don't want to be a bother..." Leliana turned to go.

"No! It's quite alright. This is nothing pressing. Please, sit," Maebh slid over on the log to make room.

Leliana sat. "You have been receiving a surprising amount of correspondence lately. How do they know where we are," she seemed concerned.

Maebh shook her head. "You don't need to worry about anybody following us. These are from a ghost-- a backlog of a romance which featured me, although I didn't know it at the time."

Leliana was quiet a moment. "You know, I just noticed that you haven't been wearing that lovely ring for a while."

Maebh sighed. "Is it strange that I feel like I'm betraying him? He's dead and I realize now that barely knew him but..." She felt a lump in her throat.

"He was not in the tower with you?"

"No. I knew him before I was taken," Maebh looked down at the pile of letters as guilt welled inside her. "I keep thinking about something I said to him, and I wonder if I hadn't, if I had been more careful maybe he wouldn't have... Maybe he would have actually loved his wife and maybe..."

Leliana's eyebrows rose. "He was married?"

Maebh frowned and nodded.

"I don't understand, what could you have said to him as a child that would make him not love his wife? Maebh, you blame yourself too much."

"It wasn't..." Maebh sighed. She looked at Leliana, who met her gaze of longing and fear with one of sympathy and understanding. Maebh bit her lip, and turned over the top letter, revealing the royal seal. She was silent while Leliana realized what the seal meant. "Good King Maric was a little old for me," Maebh said with a faint smile.

"Oooooh," Leliana breathed. "How..."

"My father was part of the rebel army. Good King Maric came to trust him a great deal, and after Ferelden was free he rewarded my family. My father spent a great deal of time in court, and he kept me with him in Denerim. That's how I came to know Cailan. We were playmates. About six years after I was taken to the tower, he and Good King Maric went on a tour of Ferelden. We met in secret. I told him... I told him that if he could get me out I would be eternally grateful."

Leliana tilted her head. "Were you lying?"

"No, but," Maebh turned to her, "Did you ever have an opportunity to meet him?"

Leliana smiled fondly, "I do not travel in those circles, no."

Maebh glanced over at Alistair, who was using a length of rope to play tug-of-war with Sal. "Well, you _didn't_."

Leliana giggled, "True. But don't get distracted, you were going to explain how that comment could possibly have prevented him from loving his wife."

Maebh twisted her hands. No, this she could not explain, not completely. "Cailan... he wanted so badly to be the hero. I was his princess in the tower and he was my white night. How could he love an actual person when he had created this perfect fantasy woman who happened to wear my skin." She frowned. "If there had been an heir..."

Leliana sighed. "He was his own person, capable of making his own decisions."

"That's true. And," she shrugged, "it's not like I was the only one."

Leliana smiled sadly and placed a hand on her shoulder. "I know it is not much comfort."

Maebh put her chin in her hand. "I don't know about that. I had been feeling guilty about not feeling the same way about him as he did about me. But it wasn't really _me_ he was in love with. Does that make any sense?"

Leliana nodded. "Do you regret it?" she asked softly.

Maebh laughed. "Surprisingly, no! I know now that it would have never worked out, and we were looking for completely different things and somehow found those illusions in each other. But we were very happy for a few hours and really, what more can one ask for?" Maebh blushed and leaned in closer, speaking so quietly that only Leliana could hear. "Plus, he was very good," she cleared her throat, "looking and I think that if I had resisted his advances I would be really regretting it now."

Leliana laughed with her. "But," she said, also speaking low, "haven't I heard people saying that Alistair's likeness to him is most remarkable?"

"Oh Maker don't remind me," Maebh groaned and covered her face. "They barely knew one another, didn't much like each other, and other than a rather striking family resemblance are almost nothing alike. Why do I feel so very _wrong_ about having feelings for Alistair?"

"Oh, don't be silly. It's not your fault you have consistent taste. Besides, after the Blight you would make a very good ambassador to Orlais," Leliana's eyes sparkled with mischief.

Maebh looked at her over the tops of her fingers. "Explain yourself," she asked with deep suspicion.

"Well," Leliana dropped her voice even further, "How many can claim to have had a pair of kings? That sort of accomplishment would go over very well indeed."

"You are wicked. You look all innocent and act all nice but you are a wicked, wicked woman."

Leliana laughed, and hugged her.

* * *

Slowly the group trudged up the mountain side, the howling wind scraping every exposed bit of skin, sharp needles of snow stinging the eyes. Maebh gathered her cloak tighter about her face and neck with one hand and her knees with the other. Neither did much good. She heard a grunt behind her, and turned to see that Sten had stopped short on a part of the path that had leveled out somewhat.

"What is it?" she half-shouted over the wind.

Sten glared at her, and slowly drew his sword. "Why are we here," he demanded.

Maebh looked around, confused, "What's wrong, do you see something?"

"No, I don't."

Maebh began to gather her will. "Explain yourself."

Sten advanced on her. "Why are we here."

"Why?" Maebh shook her head, not sure she heard him correctly. "To get the Ashes of Andraste to heal the Arl of Redcliffe."

"_Vashedan_. We are wasting our time. You have wasted our time since we started on this journey. You have proven yourself time and again as a weak and pitiful woman. These fools may follow you because they fear your magic but _I_ do not._ I_ will lead them to the Blight."

"Whoa, wait a minute," Alistair moved between them. "Surely we can settle this..."

"NO!" shouted Maebh, shoving him aside. "He wants to lead? Fine." She turned to Sten, "You'll have to cut me down first, of course, or the others will not follow you."

"Let us finish this!" Sten roared, and rushed at her.

Maebh lost her footing on the steep path trying to doge the first attack and tumbled to the ground, cutting the palms of her hands the jagged rocks when she tried to break her fall. Sten cracked the back of her head with the pommel of his sword, and she saw stars. Quickly she cast mind blast, stunning him, and scrambled away, up the hill.

The others stepped aside. Sten charged after her. "You fight with no honor," he cried right before she froze him in a cone of cold.

"You want me to fight you with a sword," Maebh asked incredulously, preparing to cast stone fist. "What sort of coward are you?"

Sten grunted as he was struck by the spell's force. "I wish to fight as men, a true test of arms!"

"There are several reasons why I can't do that," Maebh quipped, stumbling again as Sten swung at her with his great sword. She caught her breath when he skimmed her shoulder, the force sent her spinning.

She looked up to see Sten bearing down on her with a mighty blow, and rolled out of the way at the last second. "You want me to fight you on your terms the way you want to lead on your terms."

"Not my terms, the right terms," Sten declared as he dodged an arcane bolt. "The only terms."

Maebh bolted further up the hill. Sten took longer to follow, the altitude and his armor slowing him down. She had enough time to cast blizzard, which slowed him even more. "You can't accept that a woman and mage might be doing a good job," she shouted over the even louder wind. "You can't believe that I have the talent and intelligence to do what needs to be done."

Sten finally reached her. "You cannot, it is impossible. What you claim to be is an impossibility," he breathed heavily and bent slightly with fatigue.

Maebh frowned, and suddenly cracked him across the face with her staff with all the force she could muster. Sten collapsed like a poleaxed calf. "Do not doubt my resolve. You can doubt my ability, my intelligence, my ethics, my sanity but do _not_ doubt my resolve." She whirled on the others. "Let's get this over with. Anybody else want to take a chance? Anybody else want to take over? How about you, Oghren, still angry about Branka? Or, you, Wynne? You are the Senior Enchanter here. Or Alistair or Shale or Zevran or Leliana? Because if you do, now's the time!" she slammed the butt end of her staff on the stony ground in frustration, sending out shockwaves of will. "I want to know, I'm challenging you to your faces, which one of you will turn on me next! Fight me in the open!" She shook with rage. "How many times?"

Alistair approached her slowly, hands up in a nonthreatening gesture. The others stayed back, looking uneasy. "How many times, what?" he asked softly, stepping over Sten and placing his hand on her staff.

She struggled to catch her breath, "How many times," she took slow breaths, trying to stem the tide of tears that had started, "will somebody betray me?" The tide broke, she leaned against him and began to sob.

He shushed as he petted her hair. "Now, don't do that. You'll get your face all frozen to my armor and that will be really awkward."

She choked the tide down again. "Sorry," she mumbled, wiping her face.

"No, no, quite all right," he cleared his throat. "But we really should get going. It's rather chilly."

* * *

They camped down for the night not far from where Sten and Maebh had dueled. Wynne tended to Sten's wounds while Maebh did her best to heal herself. She carefully avoided the eyes of her companions. She was sure they all wanted to talk to her, offer her their assurances that they would not dream of betraying her. She smiled bitterly. Like Cailan had assured her he was indestructible. Like Jowan had assured her that he was not a blood mage. Like her father had assured her she was special to him. She had enough of assurances.

It was too windy to make a proper meal by the fire. Leliana divided up portions of hardtack and salted meat. Maebh retreated to the tent she shared with Leliana, blaming the weather. Leliana and Sal followed her. She curled up with Sal in her arms, and gnawed on a hunk of hardtack. Leliana started humming and braiding her hair. "You have such lovely hair," she said.

Maebh snorted, "Coarse and black is your idea of lovely?"

"It is not coarse," insisted Leliana. "You could probably use a trim, but it's not coarse, it's just wavy. And, yes, the color is lovely. Black hair is so rare in this country."

Maebh sighed. "My sister has golden hair."

"You have a sister?"

"Yes," Maebh mused, lost in thought. "We didn't ever see much of each other. She was kept at the family estate and I spent most of my time in Denerim before I was taken to the tower. But Mother always said we were two halves of the same day. She was day and I was night. I think she said that to try to get my father more interested in her, to take her to Denerim with him once or twice and leave me with her. But it didn't work. I didn't mind at the time, my father was everything to me. I lived and died for his approval and felt so very _special_ that I got to go everywhere with him. Now I wish I spent more time at the estate, I barely knew my mother."

"She has passed away, then?"

"Yes. Some time ago."

Leliana nodded. "I can empathize," she said gently. She was about to continue when there was a tap on the flap. "Did you hear that? Or was that just the wind?"

The tap repeated. Maebh got up on her knees and shuffled over to the flap. "Yes?" she said, pushing it aside.

Outside was Alistair. "Could we talk for a minute? Privately?"

"Of course. Let me get my cloak." she let the flap drop.

Alistair led her to Wynne's tent. Maebh held back. "What's going on? I thought you wanted to talk to me."

Alistair rubbed the back of his neck. "Actually, I do. I've been thinking about what you said when we were in Denerim, but that can wait. You really need to talk to Sten."

"No I don't. I don't want to talk to him at all. As soon as he's healthy, I want him gone."

"Maebh," Alistair put his hands on her shoulders and turned her so she was facing him straight. "He has some things to say to you that you need to hear."

She tried to turn away, he tightened his grip. "Let go of me." She set her jaw.

He shook his head. "Just talk to him, hear him out. Please," he implored her.

Maebh slumped. "Fine," she said, feeling numb. She lifted the flap. "You have something to say," she asked as she crawled in.

Sten winced as he sat up. "You have defeated me honorably."

She sat next to him. "Really? You didn't seem to think I was fighting you honorably. What changed?"

He was quiet a moment. "You were right. I was expecting you to fight as I would and make decision as I would. But my ways are not your ways. I have come to realize that your ways are better suited to this land, kadan, and I want to beg your forgiveness."

Maebh was stunned. "You...w-what?!"

He reached out his hand. "Tell me to stay, and I will stay. Tell me to go, and I will go. I respect your decision as my leader."

Maebh stared at him closely. His expression did not change, though it rarely did anyway. What game was he playing? He raised his hand to her. She looked at it, then his face again. He met her gaze with a look of impassivity. She bit her lip. "I trust you," she said quickly, and took his hand in hers. "You can stay."


	16. Concerned with Matters Lofty

Catacombs

Maebh turned to Alistair. "Do you trust me?" she asked in a voice barely above a whisper.

Alistair was quiet for an uncomfortably long time, his eyes thoughtful. "Ignoring all the evidence that tells me I really shouldn't? Yes."

"Good enough," she said and turned back to Kolgrim. "Sure. Give me the blood."

* * *

Cautiously Maebh, Alistair, Wynne and Leliana crept past the dragon's perch. Maebh felt rhythmic tremors in the rock below her feet. Was it the beast's heart beat? She carefully kept her eyes away from it, as if feeling her gaze could provoke it to attack. They reached the door without the dragon noticing them. Maebh slipped inside and breathed a sigh of relief.

The guardian turned his attention to Maebh. "You carry a great guilt upon your shoulders."

"I do," Maebh simply admitted, not wanting to provoke the man with a churlish response.

"You feel you are accursed, and blame yourself for the death of the king."

Maebh was stone, impassive and honest. "I do." She felt the questioning gazes of her companions upon her.

"Why?"

Maebh exhaled. "I wasn't supposed to be a mage. I was supposed to be the Teryn's second. I was supposed to be _there_, with _him_. I could have seen it. I could have stopped it. I could have saved him, and everybody else."

Alistair moved as if he were going to place his hand on her arm, but held back. "You're too hard on yourself," he said.

Leliana shook her head. "Thinking that way will only drive yourself mad."

"You are what you are," agreed Wynne. "Playing 'if-only' in your mind is useless. You have accomplished astonishing things; take credit for what you have done and don't chastise yourself for what could have happened if things had been different."

Maebh hung her head. They were right.

* * *

The gauntlet was trying, though not as physical as the one in the Deep Roads. Maebh was clever enough to answer all of the riddles correctly. She wondered in the back of her mind what might have happened if she didn't, but then caught herself falling into patterns of "if-onlies" and consciously stopped herself.

She was not prepared for what she would find on the other side of the door.

In front of her stood a lovely woman. She had honey blonde hair twisted in a bun, and wide-set, deep blue eyes. Her generous mouth was turned up in a kind smile. Maebh felt all the air leave her body in one long breath. "Mother?"

The woman held out her arms to Maebh, who ran to her. "Oh, Maybe," her voice was sorrowful as she took her in a close embrace. "I missed you so."

Maebh clutched at her. "Did you know? Did you know I was alive? I wanted to come home so badly."

Maebh's mother shushed her as she stroked her hair. "I did. Your father told me what happened. He was trying to protect you."

"I don't understand," Maebh frowned. "Protect me from what?"

"He was afraid that people would think you had enthralled the prince. That they would try to kill you. He said he would rather have a Tranquil daughter than a dead one." Maebh's mother placed her hand on her face. "You know as well as I do that he always did what he thought was best."

"Mother," Maebh's face twisted in grief. "You don't know what he's done..."

She shushed her again. "I don't, and I can't. I'm not truly here with you. You know that."

"Please..."

"But you also know that I loved you. I prayed for you and thought of you every day. I know the others say that you are your father's daughter, but you are mine as much as you are his. And more than that, you are your own person, and you make your own choices. I am proud of you."

The grief commingled with guilt. "You don't know what I did to Nora."

Her mother's expression became the slightest bit rueful. "I could probably guess. It was as much his fault as it was yours. I forgive you, and so will she."

"How can you be so sure?" doubt gnawed at Maebh's heart.

"Because I know her, and I know you, as I know myself. You are two halves of the same day. Take this," she pressed a pendant into Maebh's hand, "and know that I still love you."

And then she was gone.

* * *

"Oh Maker. A bridge." Maebh turned around and sat down with her head in her hands. "Why does it always have to be a bridge?"

"Not just a bridge," mused Alistair. "Some kind of ghostly not-bridge. Oh, sorry," he said when Maebh groaned. "Hey, maybe standing on these things along the wall will help somehow."

* * *

Maebh stood in front of the altar, and looked at the line of fire that burned without any visible source of fuel.

"What is it," asked Leliana. "What does it want us to do?"

Maebh swallowed. "It wants us to... strip."

"W-what?!" Alistair's voice cracked.

Maebh nodded, blushing, unable to look at him. "Yes, it's very clear."

"Well," Wynne said in an almost aggressively practical tone, "The quicker we get this over with the better, don't you think? It's far too cold to be wandering around in the bare for long."

Maebh tried to force her heartbeat to slow. "Here," she said, turning to Alistair, trying to mimic Wynne's practicality. "I can help you with your buckles."

Alistair stood perfectly still as Maebh got to work on the buckles on his left shoulder. She realized halfway through that she had been holding her breath. She tried to figure out a way to breathe where she would not be panting on his neck. Finally, she worked the buckle free and went to work on the ones below his right arm. "Remember last time I did this? I went out of order," she joked, trying to break the tension.

"Yes, I had quite the bruise," Alistair said flatly.

Maebh became conscious of the other two's curious looks. "Oh," she laughed, "It's not what you think!"

"Oh, really," Leliana arched an eyebrow. "What am I thinking?"

Alistair shifted his weight, and Maebh was able to finish the last buckle under his arm and started working on the right shoulder buckles. "Um, well, you see..." she laughed nervously.

"Actually, if you don't mind I'd rather not talk about that," Alistair frowned.

Maebh's heart sank. Alistair looked miserable. "I'm sorry," she whispered as she finished on his right shoulder and ducked under his left arm. "I didn't think..."

"That's alright. I just don't want to talk about it. Ever."

Maebh finally finished. "Lift up your arms, please. You can manage the rest on your own, right?"

He nodded. She turned away and started undressing as quickly as possible. She felt sick in the pit of her stomach and just wanted to leave. She nearly tore the straps of her smallclothes in her haste, and skipped across the fireline without hesitating or looking back.

* * *

Maebh approached the Urn. She reached her hand into her pocket and gripped the vial of dragon blood. She looked back at Alistair once, to see if he was worried. Something dark within her hoped he was. It hoped he would look at her with a face of fear and suspicion. She would pour the blood into the ashes. She would destroy the most holy of relics and finish the murder of Arl Eamon her friend had started. An unforgivable betrayal, the basest treachery. It would be easy, the coward's way out. He would hate her instantly and she could hide forever. She would never have to tell him the truth. And when he found out, it wouldn't change his mind about her. Easy.

But he did not look at her with suspicion or fear or worry. He was calm, and maybe a bit inquisitive. As if he was prepared to do whatever she ask of him, should she need him. The dark part of her retreated. No, she would have do this the hard way. The vial stayed in her pocket.

* * *

Kolgrim was waiting outside the temple. Maebh briefly considered attempting to sneak past him, but rejected that idea after she realized that if he did see them, there was no way she could talk them out of it. She tossed the vial behind a rock and decided to bluff.

"What's wrong? Why are you back?" Kolgrim asked warily.

Maebh widened her eyes and smiled. "I don't understand, did I do something wrong?"

Kolgrim folded his arms, suspicion rising. "You have completed your task in the service of Andraste?"

Maebh held her arms wide. "Of course I did! Can't you tell?"

Kolgrim turned to look at the dragon. Maebh took advantage of his distraction to examine what they were up against. Four reavers, plus Kolgrim, at least one mage and she expected at least a few archers hidden behind the collapsed walls. She realized Kolgrim was turning back to her and fixed her wide-eyed gaze back on him.

"Andraste remains trapped by the earthly remains of her former incarnation. You betrayed us!" Kolgrim leaned back and roared.

"So, was this part of the plan?" Alistair asked as he unsheathed his sword.

"Not...exactly," admitted Maebh. "There's a mage back there, I'm going to take him out so you can focus on the reavers," she told him.

She darted past the reavers as they were roaring themselves into a frenzy. As she turned to run towards the mage she realized she had made a mistake. There were actually two mages. She ducked and rolled as one cast a fireball. Fortunately for her, the other mage was caught in the crossfire and also knocked down. Maebh recovered first and cast crushing prison on the mage left standing and sleep on the one who wasn't. With both incapacitated she began to cast chain lightning. She struggled to keep her concentration when the archers started hitting her. Finally the spell was complete and the mages were seared with repeating bolts of electricity.

She took advantage of their distraction and snapped the ends off of the arrows stuck in her leg. She gasped as the jagged tracks of pain snake up and down the muscle. She dodged another volley of arrows that whistled past her. The wounds in her leg burned white-hot as she hobbled over to a pile of rubble and ducked. With arrows whistling on either side of her, she began to cast death cloud. She set it somewhere close to where she thought the archers had been, and tried to start healing her leg. The wounds were too deep, she would have to settle for closing the skin enough to staunch the bleeding. She heard the cries of the archers as they tried to find a way out of the fog. She twisted around the rock so that she was half lying on her stomach and peered into the fog. Lying prone, she shot arcane bolts and lightning bolts at the archers, increasing their confusion while dealing enough damage to pick off most of them.

By the time the smoke cleared the others had finished battling the reavers. She heard them calling her. She tried to respond, but the words died in her throat as the pain in her leg blazed. She let out a weak cry. Alistair found her first. "What happened?" he asked.

"I miscalculated," she responded, grimacing.

* * *

Wynne did not have the supplies to heal her wounds on the mountain top, Maebh tried to walk on her own using her staff as a walking stick. The road was steep and treacherous. She slipped frequently, sucking the air through her teeth whenever her foot touched the ground, flexing the muscle and causing waves of agony.

About halfway down the mountain Alistair handed Leliana his shield and held her around the waist with his left arm. "Put your weight on me," he told her.

Maebh bit the inside of her cheek. Her leg throbbed even with no weight on it. She clung to Alistair's shoulder and pressed her face against his arm. She bit her cheek and whimpered as her wound started to seep blood again. Alistair didn't bother to ask, he lifted her in his arms. "Please, don't..." Maebh tried to protest.

"You're in no condition to walk. We'll go faster this way."

Maebh wrapped her arms around his neck for balance. "But you're still angry with me," she said softly, tears of pain and sadness in her eyes.

She was close enough to see the fine muscles in his jaw working as he clenched and unclenched his teeth. "I am not angry with you. You didn't bring it up to upset me. I just wasn't expecting it and it's a sore subject."

Maebh leaned her head against the place where his shoulder met his neck. "But why? I barely knew you then. You couldn't have cared for me."

He was silent for a while. "Are you going to miss this?" He asked suddenly, abruptly changing the subject.

Maebh was confused. "What, the arrowheads stuck in my calf? Or just accidentally making you miserable on a regular basis?"

"Well, I don't mean that or the constant attacks from darkspawn and religious fanatics and assassins and Maker knows what else. I mean the adventure, the mystery, the camaraderie, the schemes and strategies that you're always trying, that sort of thing."

Maebh choked back a whimper as her leg was brushed by a tree branch. "If this is any indication of how my schemes and strategies are progressing, maybe it's best that I not continue."

"A momentary setback. Usually you're quite good, you know that?"

"I have excellent support." She smiled through the pain.

"Does it have to end?" He asked quietly. "The Wardens need to be rebuilt. We could do that, you know. Together."

Maebh's heart flipped. "Really?" She bit her lip as her leg spasmed again. "Assuming, of course, that we both survive."

He smiled. "Well, you know me! The eternal optimist."

"One of us has to be, I suppose."

* * *

Wynne tsked at Maebh. "Why did you heal the skin over the wound? This makes things much harder." She took out a knife and rubbed alcohol.

"I was trying to slow the blood loss," Maebh gritted out, and flinched as Wynne burned the alcohol off the blade.

"Of all the absurd notions that came into your head today, 'twas possibly the least ridiculous," Morrigan said as she handed Maebh a small piece of wood. "Bite down on this." As Maebh took the wood in her mouth, Morrigan took hold of her arms.

Wynne sliced the newly-healed skin, a movement quick and sure. Maebh grunted and twitched, but could not kick as Alistair held her legs down. All were silent as Wynne dug the first arrowhead out of Maebh's calf. Sweat beaded on Maebh's brow as she squeezed her eyes shut and concentrated on staying as still as possible. "You're doing really well," Alistair said, encouraging her. Maebh nodded, then choked back a cry as Wynne went to work on a barbed splinter. A few tears slipped through her tight shut eyelids and dripped past her ears.

"The worst is over," Wynne announced as she began the long process of knitting Maebh's torn flesh back together. Morrigan got up and left. Alistair moved to her side and held her hand.

"It's fine," Maebh said, "this doesn't hurt at all." She wouldn't turn to look at him.

"Maybe I just like holding your hand," he said with a smile. When Maebh still didn't turn to him, the smile faded. "I can go."

He tried to let go, but Maebh tightened her grip. "No. I mean, you can stay if you want to."

Alistair relaxed, and the smile returned. "Well, how could I refuse such an invitation."

Maebh turned to him. Her face drawn with pain, she still managed an answering smile. "Why does this sort of thing keep happening to me. When are you going to fall off a cliff or develop a crippling addiction to chewing ironbark or something so that _I_ can be the hero."

"What are you talking about?" he looked puzzled. "You've been the hero the whole time."

Wynne cleared her throat. "I'm finished here, and I am going to get some sleep. I recommend the same for both of you. Good night."

* * *

But Alistair did not leave with Wynne. And Leliana did not come into the tent. They were silent, holding hands, and Maebh realized this was the first time in months they were completely alone together. She sat up and looked at him. "What do you mean, I've been the hero the whole time?"

He put his arm around her shoulders. "After Ostagar, I was drowning in sorrow for everything that I had lost and had no way to get out. I knew there were things I was supposed to be doing, but I couldn't think, let alone plan for how to accomplish those things. But then you survived. And I realized that you needed me. It gave me a purpose. I couldn't face my own grief but I could take care of you. And you could take care of figuring out how to do what we were supposed to do. And together we could keep going, to do what we needed to do. Saving you saved me."

Maebh looked down. "Oh." She paused, thinking. "Why did you get so angry at me today?"

He sighed. "I'm wasn't angry with you. I was angry with _him_. Which is silly, I know. But he never really knew you, not the way I do. And maybe I'm jealous. I care about you a great deal, and I was hoping that you had maybe come to feel the same way about me." He let his arm fall from her shoulders, and started to go. "But maybe I was just fooling myself."

Maebh placed her hand on his arm. "You don't have to go. I … didn't realize you felt that way." She bit her lip and continued, softer. "I didn't realize you felt the same way I did."

A slow smile appeared. "So _I_ fooled _you_? Good to know." He took her face in his hands and kissed her.

Maebh's heart pounded in her chest. She reached her arms around his shoulders and leaned into him. One of his hands slid to the back of her head while the other wandered down to her hip. She smiled and took his bottom lip between her teeth. She felt his breath catch, and he gently lowered her down.

They spent some time caressing, exploring each other. Maebh felt her body respond to his attention in a way that she hadn't with Cailan. For him, she had been an impressive accomplishment. His interest in actually knowing her as anything other than a reflection of his own ego had been limited. He wanted to finish his story, to have his princess in the tower. His movements too sure of their own efficacy to notice the reluctance she had actually felt.

She realized what was most important to Alistair was that he was with _her_. His affection washed over, a tangible wave of warmth. She dug her fingernails into his upper arms and kissed him with passionate force. Slowly, gently, he disentangled himself from her willing embrace. He was flushed, his hair tousled and desire clear in his eyes. "I... have to go."

Maebh tilted her head, not quite comprehending. "Are you going to come back?" she asked.

"Not tonight," he said, the blush creeping up on his face. "I... forgive me," and he left.

When Leliana came in some minutes later, Maebh was sitting in the middle of the tent, hair and clothes mussed, completely baffled. "What did you say to him?" she asked, concerned.

"I don't know," Maebh shook her head. "Andraste's knickers, I do not understand that man."


	17. A Little Death

Redcliffe

Maebh looked from Arl Eamon to Greagoir. "But, with all due respect Arl Eamon he was acting on the orders of the Teyrn. He didn't know..."

Arl Eamon raised his hand and closed his eyes. His face sagged, exhausted. "No, I cannot," he said, a thin sheen of sweat standing on his forehead.

Maebh turned to Greagoir, hands out, imploring. "Knight-Commander, isn't there something I could do," she tried to swallow the lump in her throat. "He told me that the Teyrn took him from the Templars and told him Arl Eamon was planning a coup and what else was he supposed to do? He was trying to do the right thing," she paused for breath.

Greagoir was stone. "Regardless of whether or not that is true, he is still a maleficar. He still destroyed his phylactery. We still have the orders to make him Tranquil."

Maebh clasped her hands and bit her lip, thoughts racing. There had to be a way out. Where was the way out? This couldn't be it. This couldn't be Jowan's fate. "No," she said softly. She looked around the room, trying to find somebody who would help her. She looked at Isolde, who held Connor's hand and would not meet her eye. Teagan also looked away. Greagoir's expression did not change, and Maebh did not recognize the Templars with him. She realized he did that on purpose. None of them knew her, none would be swayed. She took a step back, turned to Alistair. He shook his head. She stomach flipped. "Please," she said, barely above a whisper. "Couldn't we..."

The muscles in his jaw worked. She knew him well enough now, he was upset about disappointing her. "No," he said firmly. "Even if I thought it was a good idea, I don't know how."

She deflated. "Can you ask Eamon if I could speak with him a moment?"

* * *

Slowly Maebh approached the cell. Jowan looked even worse than he had the last time she saw him. He was emaciated, his eyes stared at from two sunken pits in his face. He scratched at the lice in his hair. His nails were black with dirt. She covered her mouth with her hand, not believing her eyes.

His dry lips stretched in a smile without humor. "That bad, huh?"

She took a deep breath. "They're here for you."

He looked away. "I see."

She lay her hands on the bars. "Jowan, did I ever tell you what happened when the King and the Teyrn came to see me?"

His brow furrowed. "You said they thought you had stolen a dagger from one of the guards."

She shook her head. "Actually, they thought I had enthralled the Crown Prince somehow. Or maybe they didn't think so, but that was the rumor and they were responding to it, I don't know. Either way, the Teyrn wanted me to be made Tranquil just to be safe." Jowan paled at the sound of the word. "He thought it would be more merciful than killing me. But I knew better." Her fingers wrapped around the bars, but her voice remained steady. "I knew everybody said they'd rather be dead than Tranquil."

Jowan swallowed. "Why are you telling me this," he croaked.

"You said that to me once, not too long ago. That you'd rather die."

He nodded.

"Is that still true?" she asked, so quietly he had to strain to hear. "Would you rather die?" She glanced back at the guards, who had given her a respectful distance. "I have a knife. I could cut an artery. It would all be over before they got here."

"No," he said, just as quietly.

"Don't worry about me, they can't touch me. I'm too important at this point. They'd never be able to justify arresting one of two Grey Wardens during a Blight just for killing a blood mage they were going to make Tranquil anyway."

"I know you can take care of yourself. But I don't want," he swallowed again, and Maebh cursed herself for not bringing water, "I don't want to take the coward's way out."

"What do you mean? How is death cowardly?"

He shrugged. "It's easy to die. It's harder to live, and deal with the consequences of your actions. I'm tired of taking the easy way out. I want to do what's right."

Maebh took a deep breath, anger rising. "But what they want to do to you isn't right," she hissed. "It's cruel and a wretched thing to do somebody and--"

Jowan held up his hand. "Enough. You may be right. But that is somebody else's fight. Tell Greagoir to do what he will. I will not resist. And I don't want you to try anything on my behalf, either."

Maebh's hands dropped to her sides, limp and useless. "I will respect your decision." She turned to go.

"Maebh, wait," Jowan stood. "Will you ever, you know, come and visit me? I know the Tranquil don't have feelings but they do have memories. I'll remember you at least."

Maebh couldn't turn around. But she nodded.

* * *

Alistair was in rare form. He stood on a bench, regaling the knights and other honored guests with tales of their adventures. He was only halfway through his first tankard of ale, but his bright eyes, flushed cheeks and high spirits made it clear it had all gone to his head.

Maebh was grateful the attention was focused on him, and picked at her food. She had carefully sipped small amounts each time one of the knights proposed yet another toast. It was hard enough to control her conflicting emotions without alcohol.

The crowd was absolutely enraptured with Alistair's stories. His good humor coupled with a loosening of inhibitions made him an enthralling storyteller. He was telling them of their adventures in the Deep Roads, complete with descriptions of the monstrous beasts they had encountered there. Maebh thought of the Broodmother and gagged. She started to stand up.

"Ah, my fellow Warden!" Alistair raised his glass, and the rest of the crowd followed suit. "Won't you join me?"

"I...uh..." Maebh broke out in a cold sweat. "I'd really rather not."

"Nonsense!" he cried and the crowd agreed. A pair of knights grabbed her arms and all but dragged her to the head of the table. Maebh began to feel the feathery flutters of panic in her gut. She was lifted up on the bench beside Alistair, who quickly grabbed her tightly around her waist, preventing escape.

"Alistair, please, I don't like..." her stomach somersaulted.

"Now," he said, addressing the guests, "What story should we tell them? How about the time you strangled that bandit for calling you pretty?"

"Uh.."

"Oh! Or about that shiner you gave Bann Teagan when he got fresh with you, eh?" He pointed at Teagan, who laughed.

Maebh turned beet red, angry at how he was twisting what really happened. "That's not why..."

"Oh wait! I know!" he turned to the crowd, now hushed with anticipation. "Let's tell them about the first time I met you!"

Maebh froze. "I don't remember..." her brow furrowed and she frowned. Meeting Alistair? He didn't make much of an impression on her at the time, she was still reeling from her meeting with the Teyrn.

A flicker passed over Alistair's face. A momentary quaver in the jocularity. He took a long quaff from his tankard and continued, smile in full force. "Well, I'll refresh your memory. You see, I had just finished delivering a message to a mage. Did you know him?"

Maebh pulled a face. "Senior Enchanter Hugh. He taught my demonology course."

Alistair's eyes flew wide. "That was Hugh? Hugh the Muse? The star of such epic poems like 'Screw You, Hugh'?"

Maebh looked down and nodded as the guests laughed. She tried to subtly wiggle out of Alistair's grasp, but he only held her tighter. Her stomach roiled, half from her intense desire to get away from the crowd's attention and half from her body's desire to be held even tighter.

"Well, we'll save that recitation for another time, won't we? This is a story about me. And you, too, I suppose." He paused while the audience chuckled. "Well, let's see. I had just finished sassing the mage, as it were, when this," he paused and leaned back, leering at her, "lovely creature approached. Now, you would think that with all my years in the Chantry, I would have learned how to recognize a mage but somehow," he waggled his eyebrows, "I was distracted."

Maebh piped up, "I was wearing my new mage's robes, too."

"Yes! Anyway, I tried to impress you with a joke."

"It wasn't very funny." Their audience chuckled again.

Alistair made a stricken expression, "But you laughed! And joked back with me!"

"I felt bad for you."

He staggered. "The truth comes out! But you didn't feel bad for me long, did you. Because then I asked you if you were a mage."

"I didn't know what to say. I was afraid that maybe you had suffered a blow to the head."

"And then I tried to make conversation, by mentioning that there haven't been many female Grey Wardens. And then, my friends, do you know what she said?" Alistair again turned his full attention to the crowd. They responded in the negative. "She said that she would prefer it if I stopped thinking of her as a woman!"

The crowd roared with laughter. It rang in Maebh's ears. She clapped her hands to her burning face and fervently wished to die.

"As if that's possible, right?" Alistair laughed. "But don't be fooled. She may look all shy and bashful here but I assure you she's a _monster_," he paused and took a long drink from his tankard as the guests laughed lecherously, then looked around with wide-eyed innocence, "on the battlefield, that is!"

Desperation fueled her movements, and Maebh wriggled out of Alistair's grasp, mumbling something about not feeling well. She walked as quickly as she could, fighting the urge to flee, as the audience's laughter thundered.

* * *

Maebh slinked into a room that offered some kind of haven: unoccupied and no bed. There wasn't much in it, really. There were some bookshelves and a desk and a large portrait of the former queen. Maebh stood in front of the portrait, studying it. Her memories of the woman were vague at best.

She tried to reconstruct them. She remembered being told about the windmill. It had sparked her imagination, a secret passage. The circumstances around that conversation, why she told her, when and where, swirled away. The threads of memory she could no longer grasp. She remembered other people telling her that Rowan favored her above Anora, but why she did not know. And she didn't remember being treated any differently.

She remembered the queen being sick. She didn't understand that she was dying. Sometimes, on good days, the queen would come with Maebh and Cailan outside, and sit on a bench and watch them play. Maebh remembered sitting on a bed next to her and talking about...something. Her own mother? Somersaulting? Olives? She shook her head. It was gone. The queen had died not long after.

She drifted over to the desk. Bits of paper, small boxes, darling little drawers with cunning little locks peeked and winked at her. She tried to resist the pull of curiosity. It occurred to her that with so many people in the estate, nobody would suspect that she had rifled through the desk's contents. In the second drawer on the left she found a cheap religious trinket that had been shattered and painstakingly repaired.

The door shut behind her. Maebh pocketed the trinket while she whirled to see Arl Eamon blocking her exit. She smiled awkwardly. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to intrude. I just was feeling overwhelmed and needed someplace quiet to gather my thoughts."

Eamon locked the door behind him, and advanced on her.

Maebh retreated, knocking over the chair. "Oh, uh, I'm sorry about that..." she stumbled.

Eamon grabbed her wrist, his grip like a vice. "You!" he hissed. "What is this? Some kind of game? You think the poison has addled my wits so that I wouldn't figure it out!?"

"Ser, I d-don't know what you're t-talking..." Maebh tried to twist out of his grip, which only tightened. She cried out as the man's fingers dug painfully into the tender flesh. Fear and surprise gave way to anger. She caught her balance and stood up straight. "What exactly are you accusing me of?" she demanded, yanking her arm away.

He let go, taken aback by her tone. "I am accusing you of being in collusion with that blood mage and your traitor father," he declared, matching her righteous indignation with his own.

"With all due respect, Arl Eamon, perhaps that poison did addle your wits. You forget that I am a mage. I have no father," she spat. She felt a sick thrill of victory as Eamon flinched from the full meaning of her words.

"The truth is written on your face for anybody who cares to see it," Eamon snarled. "I had heard rumors that you still lived, but I never believed it. I thought him to be an honorable man, and took him at his word. Yet another example of how he used his reputation against honest people."

"Be that as it may, I have not seen the man in nearly two decades. You think he's been hatching this plan for the last twenty years? Surely you are not that much of a fool."

"But you were at Ostagar."

"I was a recruit, fresh out of the Tower! The closest I came to him was twenty paces and believe me, I was not interested in getting any closer. The last time we spoke he made it very clear what he was to me, and I to him," the Maebh's mouth twisted with the bitter memory. "There was no happy family reunion, Eamon. I don't think he even realized who I was."

Eamon's face was pained. "Forgive me. This experience has shaken me more than I expected, it appears." He stiffly lowered himself into the other chair. He looked exhausted, and much older than his years. He held a hand to his forehead. "After all you've done for my family."

Maebh felt a wash of reluctant pity for the man. She walked over and knelt next to him, placing her hand on the arm of the chair. "I understand. Can I get you anything?"

"That won't be necessary. I think I just need some peace. The feast is getting quite boisterous."

Maebh paled. "Alistair hasn't told any more stories about me, has he?"

Eamon's weak chuckle dissolved into a dry cough. "He does seem to enjoy a good audience."

"He can have them," she groaned. "I hate being the center of attention."

Eamon appraised her thoughtfully. "You seem to be able to command fighting forces well enough."

She was quiet while she considered this. "Yes, but that's...different. We're all working to achieve a goal. They just want to be entertained. And besides, some of the things he said, some of the things he _implied_, weren't true."

"Well, so it goes," he said, patting her hand, "sometimes you can't let the facts get in the way of a good story."

"I should probably get back," she sighed. "I don't want to imagine what will happen if they start looking for me. You're sure you don't need anything? You want I should tell Isolde where you are?"

"Yes, if you could tell Isolde that would be helpful. But I don't need anything."

Maebh got up and left, closing the door softly so as not to disturb him.

* * *

She managed to stick to the sides and avoid talking to strangers. Her bizarre entourage discouraged most comers. She had a nice conversation with a slightly tipsy Perth, and a not so nice conversation with a slightly tipsier Teagan. She found the whole experience very trying, and was anxious to go. She reached into her pocket and fiddled with the amulet.

"It wishes to leave?" Shale asked her, with her usual heir of detached curiosity.

"Yes, very much," Maebh saw no point in lying to the golem.

"Then why doesn't it?"

"Because..." she realized she didn't really have a reason. "You know what? I'm going to bed."

* * *

Maebh awoke the next morning feeling bright and refreshed. Sleeping in a real bed was such a rare treat anymore. She bounced into Alistair's room and threw open the drapes. "Alistair," she trilled, "you need to get up! It's time to go."

Alistair groaned and covered his face with a pillow. "No," he grumbled.

"Myes, myes," Maebh sat next to him with a flop. "Come on," she started tugging at the coverlet.

"Maebh, my head hurts!" he whined, curling into a fetal position.

"And who's fault is that?" she scolded, wagging her finger.

Alistair grimaced. "Teagan's."

She rolled her eyes.

"But, Maebh, you're a mage. You can heal me?" he grabbed her hand and looked at her pleading eyes.

"And what sort of lesson would you learn from that?" she harrumphed.

He grinned. "The lesson that Maebh is the very best girl in all of Thedas, possibly the world?"

"Fine," she groaned. "Hold still." She placed her hands on either side of his head and gently enveloped him with a healing spell.

He sighed happily. "Lesson learned."

Maebh got up to go. "We leave in an hour. The sooner we get to the Brecilian forest the sooner we can get our Dalish armies and the sooner we can call the Landsmeet and be done with all this."

"Yes, ser."

She paused at the door and turned around. "I have a question," she blurted.

"Oh?" he arched an eyebrow.

She chewed her lip, feeling slightly nervous. "You were raised in the chantry, right? So does that mean you've never..."

"Never what? Never had a good pair of shoes?"

Maebh frowned. "You know what I mean."

"I'm not sure I do," he shrugged. "Have I never seen a basilisk? Ate jellied ham? Have I never licked a lamppost in winter?"

She crossed her arms. "If you're just going to make fun of me..."

"Make fun of you, dear lady?" He made a stabbing motion at his chest and winced in mock pain. "Perish the thought! So tell me, have you ever licked a lamppost in winter?" he drawled.

Maebh stared at him. "Now I _know_ you're making fun of me."

"Well, if you're going to be that way about it I don't understand why you think I should tell you anything," he answered huffily.

"Tell you what? You already know! You know everything!" Maebh waved her hands, exasperated.

His eyes widened in realization. "You mean, that was..." he cleared his throat. "You mean to say before … Ostagar..."

"Yes. I licked a lamppost in winter exactly once."

"Just the once?" he relaxed. "And you didn't lose half of your tongue in the process?"

She crossed her arms and pouted. "You're impossible. If you don't want to talk to me you can just say so."

"Oh, don't be like that," he walked to her and folded her in his arms. "Fine, as for your query I must answer that... life in the chantry was not for rambunctious boys. They taught me to be a gentlemen around beautiful women such as yourself. So no, I have not. That's not a bad thing, is it?"

She relaxed and leaned her cheek against his chest. "No. You really think I'm beautiful?"

He laughed. "Of course, and charming and brilliant and all sorts of things you'd probably hurt me if I didn't say."

She frowned. "I'd never hurt you."

He held her tighter. "Nor I, you."

"I have something for you," she changed the subject.

He leaned back and eyed her inquisitively. "I am almost afraid to ask after I irritated you so much."

She pressed the amulet into his palm.

* * *

It wasn't until an hour past their anticipated departure time that a knock finally came at the door. Maebh yelped and leapt up, grabbing her discarded robes.

"Uh...Just a moment," Alistair called as he threw his shirt over his head.

"Are you feeling alright," Wynne's voice was muffled by the door. "Do you require healing?"

"No! No, everything's fine," Alistair fumbled with his boots while Maebh tried to think of a graceful way out of this situation.

"Actually," she piped up. "I'm taking care of it."

There was nothing but silence from the other side of the door. Maebh winced. "I think that's what the dwarves would refer to as an 'epic fail'," whispered Alistair as he ran his hands through his hair, trying to put it back into place.


	18. Nothing to Fear and Nothing to Doubt

Brecilian Forest

Wynne took Maebh by the arm. "We need to talk."

Maebh bristled at the elder mage's solicitous tone. "About what," she replied flatly.

"Have you considered the full weight of your relationship with him," Wynne asked point-blank.

Maebh turned away. "I don't understand what you mean."

"I know about the incident with the prince."

Maebh covered her face with her hands, trying to will the wave of shame back into submission. Would her foolish actions as a desperate adolescent haunt her forever? The wages of being born a mage.

Wynne pressed on. "The rumors said you had enthralled him. I knew that was nonsense, but then Ostagar..."

Maebh glared at her. "How do you know about that?" she demanded.

Wynne shook her head and smiled sadly. "You are quite the topic of conversation at the tower. There were those who have confessed hoping that you were involved with the king, that it would help us."

Maebh crossed her arms, shame replaced with dull sadness. "I'm sorry to let you all down," her tone bitter, grating on her own ears. "But why then are you trying to talk me out of a relationship with Alistair? It would seem whatever favors I could earn on my back with Cailan, I could do just as well with him."

"You misunderstand. If you let go of your defensive attitude for a moment and listen to me, Maebh, you might actually hear that I'm trying to warn you." Wynne grew irritated with Maebh's petulance. "You are playing a dangerous game. If we at the tower know about your … indiscretions then you can bet your dying breath that the Chantry is very much aware of it as well. Cailan could be explained away as a fling, you were starstruck and seduced. But to repeat it with the next king? If Alistair is crowned, do you really think your Grey Warden status will matter to the Grand Cleric after the Blight? She'll send you your very own Exalted March as a thank-you gift."

A sickeningly familiar dread began to pool in Maebh's stomach. The Chantry. The knight vigilant. The suspicion. The sword pressed to her neck. The daily tightrope walk between a broken spirit and oblivion. She had forgotten. Maker forgive her, this past year she had tasted a freedom she had never known. The dread had been put to sleep for a time. But it roared back to life now. She turned to Wynne. "What am I supposed to do?" she asked helplessly. She had been sharing Alistair's tent ever since they left Redcliffe, affection blossoming into something like love. To give him up, when he was there by her side every day. Maebh doubted she had the strength. "I... he is very special to me."

Something hid behind Wynne's eyes. "Be that as it may, you still have to consider your own safety."

Maebh wiped a few tears. "I'll worry about this later," she declared. "I can't just break his heart now, can I?" she took a deep, shuddering breath. "After all this. If we survive. If it even lasts that long."

Wynne patted her on the arm. "Let's go, we need to catch up with the rest."

* * *

Maebh stalked out of the camp, furious. "He's lying to us, I can feel it."

"Does it want me to crush him? I could do that." Shale offered.

Maebh paced a moment. "No, not now," she sighed in resignation. "I'm going to try to figure out what he's up to, first. Maybe later."

* * *

Maebh held the jewel-like phylactery in her hand. It throbbed with life. It offered her knowledge. A memory, her father kneeling beside her, teaching her how to hold a sword. Her father teaching her how to defend with a shield. Her father's pride as she swung at the practice dummy and made contact.

Yes. She wanted to be an Arcane Warrior.

* * *

"I'm sorry, Lanaya, Zathrian died. But he died with honor." Maebh realized, to her surprise, that this was not a lie.

Lanaya accepted the news gracefully.

* * *

The time had come, Maebh realized. She sat, staring into the fire, Alistair's arm slung across her shoulders. He was chatting with Leliana and Oghren about something or other. He was happy, relaxed. She cracked the knuckles on her left hand one by one. Alistair squeezed her and kissed her head. She smiled and patted him on the face. "I..." her courage wavered, and she looked down.

"Something you need, my dear?" he traced a finger under her chin and lifted her face.

She took a deep breath and looked him straight in the eyes. He was curious, but unconcerned. A dark well of hate bubbled in her gut for her parents, for Duncan, for herself, everything that had led up to this point. This pinprick of fate on which they both teetered. She had to tell him. "I need you to gather everybody. There's something I need to tell all of you."

* * *

The entire party was gathered around the fire. Maebh stood, holding a bottle of whiskey and a tumbler. She poured a generous portion into the tumbler and gulped. The whiskey burned a trail into her stomach where it lit a fire. Her limbs numbed, her head floated. She cleared her throat. "We'll be heading to Denerim in the morning. Arl Eamon will call the Landsmeet. There are some things you all need to know about me. And I want you to hear it from me.

"I was born in Gwaren. Did you know that? I don't really remember it, I didn't spend much time there. What I do remember of it, it isn't very nice. Pretty rough place, actually. I know I've mentioned my sister to a few of you. Nora. We're twins. Fraternal." She took another gulp. "That's actually a nick name. Her full name is Anora."

A deadly hush fell over the group. Maebh quavered, but pushed on. "Anora Mac Tir."

Leliana looked confused. "But Loghain's other daughter. She died. She drowned in the River Dane."

Oghren scratched his head, baffled. "I thought you said your last name was 'Amell'."

"Those are lies. The Teryn told everybody I was dead when he sent me to the tower. He told me I could no longer claim his name. But the truth is, his daughter still lives, and I am she. I was born Maebh Mac Tir."

The silence stretched out, became thick, palpable. It blanketed the group, wrapped Maebh in a roaring nothing. She collapsed into a dark hole in herself. The end. This was the end. They would abandon her.

Sten was the first to speak. "I care not, kadan," he was calm, steady. "You are the Warden, and my leader."

Maebh clenched her jaw, began to climb out of the pit. At least one.

Wynne walked over to her. She placed her hands on either side of Maebh's face. She looked into her eyes with a gaze of love and understanding. "We all came from somewhere," she said softly, and embraced her.

Zevran cursed in Antivan, whipped a small twig at the fire and crossed his arms.

Leliana shook her head, confusion replaced with anger. "You lied to us. All this time."

Morrigan scoffed. "Oh, please. You do not actually care who sired her. You are just rankled that she was able to keep it a secret from you." She turned to Maebh. "I agree with the Qunari. I care not."

Maebh nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

"Sod it. I thought I left complicated family politics in Orzammar." Oghren took a swig from his own bottle.

Shale was next. "Pah! Why does it think I care, I wonder."

Silence. It stretched, twisted, became a rope. It tied Maebh to where she stood. She tried to look at Alistair, who just stared at the ground. Gradually the others drifted away, gave them space. Wynne stayed until the last and squeezed her arm, "I'll be in my tent if you need me."

They were alone, but not really. Maebh was keenly aware of the continued silence. The ears pricked, waiting. The pair had been the center of the group, the original two. The only Grey Wardens. If they fractured, who would the others follow? The thought of going to the Landsmeet, of confronting the Archdemon, without him filled her with a hollow fear. She couldn't. She couldn't do it alone.

He stood up, turned and walked into the woods. Maebh followed without thinking, maintaining the distance between them but unwilling to just let him go without speaking. He stopped in a clearing. The full moon illuminated all around him with a silvery light. She could see the tension in his back. He clenched his fists. She hung back, half concealed by the sharp shadows and the treeline. "Can you not even look at me?" she asked quietly.

"I don't..." he burst out, "I don't even know who you are." He spun around, eyes wide with disbelief. "How could you do this to me? How could you keep this a secret when you know how I ...felt about you," his voice caught. "I thought you cared about me. I thought that what we had was _special_."

Maebh wilted. "I do care about you. Very much. That's why I couldn't tell you."

He ran a hand through his hair and shook his head, began to pace. "I don't understand. How can I believe you, you've been lying to me since we met."

She stepped out from the shadows. "You know how, when you told me about your father, that you said that you concealed it because you were hoping I would like you for you. You wanted me to judge you by your own merits. Am I not allowed the same consideration?"

He pointed in her face. "It's not the same. _My_ father didn't betray the King. _My_ father didn't abandon the men at Ostagar. _My_ father isn't leading us into civil war while the Archdemon breaths down our neck. _My_ father didn't send mercenaries and assassins after us. _My_ father isn't trying to usurp the throne._ My_ father didn't _murder Duncan_!"

Maebh reeled, caught herself, returned with her own blaze of anger. "_I_ didn't do any of that _either_!"

Alistair clutched both sides of his head in anguish. She went to him, grabbed his wrists. "Please, haven't I done enough to prove to you that I am on your side? What else do you want from me? Tell me. Whatever it is, I'll do it. I... I need you. I can't do this without you." Something hurt in her chest, her heart cracking, eyes stinging.

He flung her hands away. "Don't..." he raised his hand to her and turned his head. "Don't touch me." He took a deep breath, fighting his own tears.

Maebh grew desperate. "Look at me, Maker forsake you. I'm the same person I was when you met me, when you saved me, when you relied on me, when you slept with me. I'm the same person I was when I saved Eamon and Connor. I'm the same person who has been by your side since Ostagar. I'm the same," her voice cracked, tears dropping in earnest. "I'm the same person who... who loves you. Nothing has changed." She took a step closer, "Please, just look at me."

His shoulders slumped. He turned, face stricken. His eyes met hers. "Please," she said, hands out, imploring.

"Andraste forgive me." He grabbed her shoulders in a crushing grip and kissed her with passionate force. She twisted her arms out of his hands and wrapped them around his neck.

She clung to him, digging her nails into his back as he buried his hands in her hair, pulling her tighter against him. She broke away, and slid her mouth to his ear. "I love you, so much," she whispered. She began to weep in earnest. He leaned back and wiped her tears away with a calloused thumb. He bent to kiss her neck. His hands grabbed her hips, fingers digging into soft flesh and jutting bone. She rolled her head back, exposing her neck and chest as he traced kisses down her throat and across her collarbone.

She clutched the fabric of his shirt and curled her hands into fists. He growled against her throat and lowered her to the ground.

Before, their coupling had been sweet and hesitant, fumbling and awkward, giggling and insatiable. This was different. Their need drove them to darker places. She slipped out of her robes and tore at his trouser laces while he took of his shirt. There was no slow revealing of flesh, shy and coy. Their lust was born of having something to prove.

The moonlight was stark, cold. Soft curves sharpened, contrast heightened. Alistair pushed Maebh until she lay flat. She did not resist as he knotted his fist in her hair with one hand and reached between her legs with the other. She turned her head and gasped as he touched her. She ached with intense need. She wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him into her.

He held her down as he thrust into her. No longer unsure of himself, he filled her with confidence bordering on harshness. She reached grasping hands to touch his shoulders, run her palms across his abdomen, drag nails down his back. He propped himself on his elbows, one hand still buried in her hair while the other found its way to her throat. He tightened his grip in her hair as he intensified his movement in her. It was too much, Maebh winced and sucked air through clenched teeth at the pain.

Alistair stopped, leaned back to look at her. She watched something change in his eyes. He furrowed his brow. "What's wrong?" she asked, worried.

He let out a breath that was almost a laugh. "I want you above me. I want to see you."

She straddled him, her hair hanging over her left breast like a ripple of black silk. Her skin pearlescent in the moonlight. He had become silver, skin and hair and eyes washed colorless. She lowered herself slowly, savoring the rush of closeness. She rocked her hips, a gentle heat building at the small of her back. He reached between her legs again. His touch jolted her, and she fell forward with a gasp. He nipped at her ear, playful. She dug her teeth into his shoulder to choke back a cry of pleasure. He gripped her hip with his free hand as she increased her pace. The heat grew. He pulled her down and kissed her gently, she nibbled his lip.

She rolled her hips and he groaned, and pushed back into her. The heat enveloped her, washed over her in golden waves. She threw her head back and could not contain the cry that escaped her. She rocked once, twice more and he arched his back, and plunged deep into her with his own triumph.

She collapsed on top of him with a sigh. He held her gently. She traced the lines of muscle from his shoulder to his elbow and back again. "So now what?" he asked, voice hollow.

She burrowed her head into the crook of his arm. "You're going to be king," she said simply.

He held her tighter. "But what about us. What's going to happen to us."

She smiled wryly, gallows humor. "Maybe we'll get lucky and one of us will die battling the Archdemon. Then we won't have to make a decision."

He kissed the top of her head. "A contingency plan then. In case our luck fails."

She shrugged. "Does anything have to change?"

"I don't know. I just know that I want to be with you. I want us to be together, no matter what. I love you, and I'm not going to let you go."

"That sounds like a good plan to me."


	19. Torture

Denerim, Guerrin Estate

Maebh crossed her arms and chewed a fingernail. "So would a simple majority be enough, do you think? Or should we need a more convincing margin, say two-thirds?"

Eamon shrugged. "Personally I feel our goal should be a unanimous vote."

Maebh sighed in exasperation. "Well, of course, but we have to face the fact that may not be possible. Let's be realistic. You're not the best liked, or even the best known, arl around. There's still some who doubt that Alistair is even Maric's son." She paced, agitated. "And to top it all off, you all have nominated me to present him: an upstart mage with a history of corrupting Ferelden's kings. I think simple majority may be the best we can hope for." She shook her head. "I don't like this."

She heard the sound of people approaching the group behind her. Cautious, she turned to face them. The Teyrn was striding into the room, Ser Cauthrien at his side. Maebh flinched and took an involuntary step back towards Alistair. He placed his hand on her shoulder and squeezed. She tried to look at the Teyrn and found that her eyes resisted, as if she were looking at the sun. She focused on Cauthrien. The usurper. The replacement. Her hands curled into fists.

Eamon kept his composure, and the two men traded barbs. The Teyrn denied attempting to take over the throne, and claimed that Anora was still ruling.

"If Anora rules, let her speak for herself!" Maebh muttered, still unable to meet his eye.

"Ah..." His attention turned to her and she felt bits of herself start to crumble. Her brain refused to function, only half of what was said actually heard.

Until he had the gall to offer his condolences on the Grey Warden's losses at Ostagar.

Anger flared within her, as the sight of Cailan's body lying on the cold ground flashed across her memory. Maebh narrowed her eyes and tried to look at the Teyrn. She focused on his hairline. "I do not accept the sympathies of deserters and regicides," she said with eerie calm.

The Teyrn was struck speechless. Cauthrien snarled at her, jumping to her general's defense. "You will guard your tongue among your betters, child." Alistair grabbed Maebh as her arms lashed out. Almost instinctively her hands curled to claw out her eyes, tear her hair, rip her throat.

The Teyrn ignored her. "There are...questions about your health, Eamon. With your recent illness, people question your judgement in calling this Landsmeet." The sneer he directed at the arl was contemptuous.

Eamon crossed his arms. "It was no illness, as well you know. Why not call your poison by its true name?"

Maebh wasn't listening as they continued to spar. She tried to squirm out of Alistair's grasp. She wanted to kill Cauthrien. Cailan's body lying on the cold ground. Jowan made Tranquil. A young girl of nine abandoned on the bridge. _Kill Cauthrien_.

The Teyrn's raised voice broke her out of her violent state. He was shouting at Eamon, charging him with splitting the nation in a time of crisis.

"If you truly want to protect Ferelden, stand with us instead of against us." Maebh's voice sounded strange to herself. It was somebody else speaking. Somebody calm. Somebody rational.

The Teyrn reacted to her calm with anger. "I should put my faith in untried bastard son, the puppet of a feeble old man, over that of my own daughter?" he scoffed.

Her anger raged within her again. She struggled against Alistair's grip.

"Do you think I am blind?" he continued.

Another bit of Maebh crumbled. Too blind to recognize her. She was finally able to look the Teyrn in the eye and she saw... something. That flicker she had seen at Ostagar. Did he realize? Did he suspect? It was gone. Replaced with bitterness.

"You rely on these Grey Wardens too much, Eamon. Have you not learned from Cailan's folly? Let us attend to reality over fantasy.

"The reality of the situation is that I cannot forgive what you have done, Loghain," Eamon was sorrowful. "Ferelden deserves a king of the Theirin bloodline. Alistair is the best choice to lead us to victory against this Blight."

"Oh, is that all I have to do?" Alistair mumbled as he relaxed his grip. "No pressure."

The Teyrn flared. "The Emperor of Orlais also thought he had a right to Ferelden's throne. You are a fool to expect I will allow Anora to abdicate in the name of Maric's by-blow."

Mercifully, with that he turned and left. Maebh realized she had been holding her breath, and let it out in one great sigh. Focus. Analyze. Where is the way out? An idea.

"He's been here quite a while, the Teyrn, hasn't he?" she asked Eamon.

He nodded.

"Well, somebody's got to know something, right? If we could just get some hard evidence of his crimes, maybe that would help..."

* * *

Several hours later, Maebh returned to the estate exhausted and frustrated. "What a waste of time!" she exclaimed as she flung herself into a chair in the Arl's sitting room. "They know! They all know what a traitorous snake the Teyrn is... They just won't talk to me." She leaned forward and rubbed her temples. "Or Zevran or Leliana. And I think taking Alistair was a bad idea."

Eamon sighed. "He has a head start on us by several months," he tried to console her.

"And I'm an untested Grey Warden mage, who's suspected to be a royal consort. Maker's Breath, for an unknown person I have quite the reputation, don't I?" Maebh scowled and tapped her foot. "Maybe..."

"What are you thinking?" Alistair sounded wary.

"Maybe Anora would help us." She looked at Eamon with something like hope. "The conventional wisdom was that she and Cailan had a... strong marriage. She couldn't have been pleased about what happened at Ostagar. She may not be happy with how the Teyrn is using her position to his own ends. We might actually be on the same side as her."

Eamon looked displeased. "I do not like alliances of convenience, particularly with someone as politically adept as the Queen. The only side Anora is on is her own."

Maebh leaped up and began to pace, exasperated. "We don't have much of a choice, do we? Better to show up at the Landsmeet with something, _anything_, other than the word of two Grey Wardens and an Arl with questionable motives."

"Very well," he conceded. "I will send a message requesting an audience."

* * *

The response to their request was surprising. Instead of an acceptance or refusal, Eamon, Alistair and Maebh were confronted with a weeping elven lady-in-waiting.

"I don't understand, why won't the Teyrn help her?"

The elf shrugged helplessly. "I do not know. But please, you must help my lady!" she begged, desperate.

"Yes, yes of course we must." Maebh found herself nervous. Anora. Her other half. The one who received everything in name but nothing in spirit. So many questions. Did she know Maebh still lived? Would she care? Her thoughts jumped, unbidden, to Goldanna. Few ever live up to the ideal. She turned to Alistair. "I'm taking Zevran, Sten, and Oghren."

"What? Why do I have to stay behind?" he demanded.

"Because I have no idea what's going on in that estate and we need you."

"Right. As if you're expendable. You're mad."

"More expendable than you," she shrugged. "In this whole debacle, you are far more important than I am. You're going to stay here. I would prefer it if you would cuddle up to Shale while I'm gone as well, to be on the safe side. The _last_ thing we need is for you to be taken out by an assassin."

With that, she spun on her heel and took her leave.

* * *

"Is it wrong," Maebh said, holding the ring the confused templar had asked her to deliver to Bann Alfstanna, "that I should feel pleased about this whole episode?"

Zevran tilted his head. "You enjoy seeing templars locked up and suffering? Kinky."

"No, that's not what I meant," she turned a bit pink. "I meant everything we've found down here."

"Ah, I see," Zevran nodded. "You enjoy seeing men locked up and suffering in general, not just templars. Good to know."

Maebh sighed in exasperation. "No! I enjoy getting hard evidence to show at the Landsmeet, you oversexed dolt."

Zevran frowned exaggeratedly. "Oh, that is a disappointment. I thought you were about to ask me to help you explore these newfound interests."

Maebh scowled. "You're ridiculous."

He grinned. "So, have you given any thought to what you will say to your illustrious sibling when we finally get her out of that room?"

Her scowl deepened. "Not exactly. Of course, I haven't seen her since I was nine years old and I don't think she even knows I'm alive."

"Might I suggest keeping your helmet on for the time being? I must say your resemblance to the man is quite striking."

"That's actually not a bad idea."

* * *

"The barrier's down, you can open the door," Maebh bit back the "you moron" that danced on her tongue.

The door opened. There stood the most beautiful woman Maebh had ever seen. She stood a few inches taller than Maebh, with perfect posture where Maebh tended to slouch. Her skin was porcelain, her eyes the same as Mother's, wide set and deep blue. Her nose small and perfect, her mouth delicate. Unconsciously, Maebh's had reached up to her own face, weather-worn skin, deep-set grey eyes, jutting nose and strong chin, a mouth that liked to scowl rather than smile. Even dressed in a guard uniform, Anora's shapeliness was apparent. Whatever softness Maebh once had, it had been ground away by the road. Maebh suddenly felt small, awkward, ugly, and baffled. What on earth had attracted Cailan's attention to her when he had this?

"Shall we get going, Warden? I believe I've quite had enough of Arl Howe's hospitality."

"Speaking of the Arl, he is...not going to be bothering you anymore." Maebh informed her.

"Ah!" Anora was pleased. "Well, that's something, at least. Let us go to Eamon's."

"Wait, shouldn't I take you to the palace?"

"No, that is not a good idea. My father is there, and he is as likely to have me killed as Howe himself." Anora sounded more irritated than anything else.

"Yes, of course."

"Kadan, be on your guard," Sten warned.

"What is it?" Maebh rounded the corner and nearly ran smack into Ser Cauthrien.

And approximately five hundred archers.

"Oh Maker," she groaned.

"I place you under arrest for the murder of Rendon Howe and his men-at-arms," Cauthrien smirked. "Surrender and you _may_ be shown mercy."

Maebh stood completely still, eyes flicking from end to end in the room. She felt Anora tense behind her. She glanced back, and could see that Anora was thinking of several different escape routes for herself. She turned back to Cauthrien, arms tensed. There was only one way for Maebh to truly win this confrontation.

"You don't have the full story. I surrender."

Everybody seemed to jump at once.

"What are you doing, we can fight them!" Sten stared, baffled.

Zevran looked concerned. "Are you sure that is a wise course of action? They may..."

Maebh felt Anora's eyes boring into the back of her skull. She was sizing her up. She had not expected Maebh to give up without a fight, and was trying to determine why she did it.

So was Maebh. She held up her hand. "I can handle it," she said with false bravado.

Cauthrien raised an eyebrow. "Take the Warden, the rest can go."

* * *

Maebh was tossed unceremoniously into a dingy cell. She twitched and stifled a groan. Gingerly, she touched a finger to the egg-sized lump that was swelling on her forehead and winced. Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea after all.

She tried to cast a healing spell but it fizzled. She dragged herself into a sitting position and blinked. The man in the cell next to her chuckled.

"I'm glad one of us thinks this is funny," she grumbled.

The man just grinned mirthlessly at her. "Were you dropped on your head as a child? You think they don't have ways to keep you from casting spells in here?"

Maebh shrugged. "It was worth a shot."

"Oh, my," the man's tone softened. "They really gave you a working over. Got a bit of the lash, did you?"

"You could say that," Maebh rolled her shoulders and sucked air through clenched teeth as the newly-formed scabs stretched and tore on her back. "Hey, can I ask for advice? Is it better to yell and cry and make them feel like they're doing a good job or just, you know, play the whole stoic game? Because I went for the 'Don't cry' option and I think that just made them try harder."

The man chuckled again, this time with real mirth. "You're very funny."

Maebh scowled and looked down. "I don't think they're coming for me," she said quietly, more to herself than to him.

"Eh? What's that?"

"Hm? Oh, nothing," she looked up and saw a guard coming. She turned to the other prisoner. "Watch me get us out of here," she said with a wink.

She stood up and walked over to the bars. "Ser, please," she said, her voice affecting an odd, almost sultry tone, "It's so...cold in here all alone..."

* * *

Maebh stumbled into Arl Eamon's estate famished, filthy, bloody, and wearing a regulation guard uniform courtesy of the Fort Drakon quartermaster. "Maker's Breath!" gasped Alistair. "Where have you been?"

"Where have I been?" she repeated, disbelieving. "Well, after we rescued our noble queen, I decided to surrender myself to the Teyrn's second who so _conveniently_ showed up just as we were leaving."

"Warden, I..." Anora started.

"Oh, don't give me that nonsense! We both know you were planning on throwing me to the wolves if I tried to resist," Maebh spat and yanked off her helmet.

Eamon leaned back slightly. "Maebh, that is quite the accusation."

She flopped down in a chair and ran a hand through her filthy hair. "Well. Isn't it just. Anyway, after that I was shown all the hospitality one might expect from a prison in a tyrant's city. Speaking of, you're lucky I told you to stay here, Alistair, I'm sure you would have gotten it twice as hard as I did."

"Maebh, your head..." Alistair looked stricken.

She laughed, a short bark of humorless laughter. "You think that's bad? You should see my back."

He reddened, which only made Maebh laugh harder.

She caught her breath. "So then, oh you'll all like this one, I managed to seduce a guard. Imagine! Looking like this? I'm think I'm going to write a letter to the commander recommending regular whore rations because that is simply absurd. So, then," Maebh started laughing again, "I snapped his neck and stole his clothing. I managed to convince everybody that I was a new recruit. Again, looking like this!"

Maebh's laughter grew hysterical. "So then I went out on patrol with my new brothers-in-arms and managed to slip away unnoticed. Very well-trained guards, you understand. And I tried to make my way back here when I was _ambushed_!" She choked out the words through gales of laughter. "Ambushed by bandits," she slumped forward, now half-weeping. "All alone! I took down eight bandits by myself!"

Alistair knelt in front of her and held her hands. "I would have come for you..."

"No," she shook her head, now just weeping. "I'm the expendable one."

Anora cleared her throat. "Excuse me, Warden. I would like to speak with you privately when you have collected yourself. You have my condolences for your recent discomfort. Please let Erlina know if there's anything I can provide to improve your condition." And she swept out of the room.

"Heartless bitch," Alistair muttered, holding Maebh's hands.

"She doesn't know, I don't think."

* * *

Maebh stood outside the queen's chambers, freshly scrubbed and healed, wearing her best gown. Her only gown, really. Plain grey, but with some charming embroidery about the neckline and waist. She smoothed her hair and knocked.

Erlina admitted her into the room. Maebh tried to still the butterflies in her stomach. "Warden," Anora turned with a pleased look. "I am glad to see you quite recovered."

"Uh, yes, of course," Maebh slouched and picked at her fingernails. "Thank you. And, um, sorry. For the whole 'accusing you' thing. "

She waved her hand as if to dismiss the whole incident. "There is no point dwelling on might-have-beens. May I offer you something to drink?"

"Sure." Maebh shifted her weight.

Erlina handed Maebh a glass of wine. "Please," Anora said, "Let us sit down."

Maebh sat opposite Anora in front of a pleasant fire. Anora's hair gleamed like liquid gold in the light. Maebh twisted a lock of coarse black tresses around her finger. "So, what did you want from me?" she asked, uncomfortable with the pleasantries.

"As you know, my father has been quite busy since Ostagar. There is much he has done to weaken our nation in this vulnerable time. I need your assistance, both at the Landsmeet and against the Blight."

"What would you have me do?"

"You have already gathered quite a bit of evidence of my father's wrongdoings. But there is one place nobody has been able to investigate: the Alienage. I need you to go in there and find out what he has been doing in there."

"But that's not all."

"No. I have one other request related to the Landsmeet. This one may be more difficult for you to accept."

"Try me."

"I want you to support my claim on the throne over Alistair's.

Maebh leaned back. "Why do you think I should do this, and why do you think it will work."

"To answer your second question first, if I may, you are quite influential. You have accomplished a great deal, helped an astonishing amount of people. Many of those people you have helped directly have also been hurt directly by my father. They will support you, especially if you support me.

"I am a good queen. I am well-respected. I have helped our nation during my time on the throne. The only thing I lack is the bloodline. But you and I both know that is an archaic affectation. What should matter is ability, not heritage. Is that not what you are taught at the Circle Tower?"

Maebh looked into the fire and scowled. "Yes."Anora went perfectly still. Maebh glanced at her. "What is it?" she asked, suspicious.

"I apologize," she shook her head slightly. "It is simply that...you look like somebody."

"I get that a lot."

"If I may be so bold?"

"Yes?"

"How old are you?"

Maebh's scowl deepened. "That's an odd question." She sighed. She wondered if she dragged it out long enough, would Anora just give up. "I'm twenty-six."

"Maker's Breath, _Maybe_?"

Maebh nodded.

"For the love of... Bann Teagan said but I didn't believe him..." Anora stood up and began to pace.

"Wait, what? What did Teagan say?"

"At the wedding. He was drunk. He told me that you still lived and Cailan was in love with you. I shrugged it off. There had been rumors, of course, all kinds of absurd rumors ever since... I can't believe you're alive. I can't believe you're _the_ Warden!"

"Hold on, Alistair's a Grey Warden, too, you know."

"Pah, nobody cares about him. Everybody knows you're really the one in charge. Of all the nonsense," Anora spun on her. "You were the one at Ostagar, weren't you?"

Maebh curled into a ball on the chair, miserable. "I want you to know I'm sorry about that."

"Well," Anora scoffed, "in terms of familial transgressions I believe Father has topped you on that count."

Maebh was surprised as her eyes started to water. "I would have done anything to save him. He sent me away. I nearly died anyway, but it was a mission he thought would keep me safe."

Anora rolled her eyes. "Please, do not embarrass us both by weeping over that fool."

Maebh looked up at her. "You loved him, don't deny it."

"Oh, yes, and he loved everybody didn't he? I have no time for such nonsense."

Another silence. "Does the Teyrn know, do you think?" Maebh felt with an odd sort of hopeful panic. "Do you think he suspects that I am still alive?"

"I have no idea what he thinks about anything. We don't exactly have heart-to-hearts over evening meal anymore. Let us return to the point." She returned to her seat. "Will you support me at the Landsmeet?"

Maebh thought for a long time. Anora was perfectly still. "Why not marry Alistair?" Maebh asked her quietly as another bit crumbled.

Anora looked thoughtful. "That would be a solution to the bloodline question, true. But what about you?"

"What about me."

Anora laughed without mirth. "You've already embarrassed me once in that way. And after that little performance in Eamon's sitting room, don't think I am so naïve as to not know what you've been doing with this one."

"He's a good man, Anora."

"He does seem to be able to muster a bit more sincerity than Cailan ever could. And biddable enough, I suppose. But he's smitten with you, and Maric's boys are always happiest when they have a woman to dote on."

"Andraste's flaming sword, woman, what do you want from me?" Maebh jumped up and strode over to the window looking out at the city. She crossed her arms and hunched her shoulders. "I love him. Is that what you wanted to hear? I love him more than I ever thought I could love a person. But what I want doesn't matter, it never did."

"And, by extension, what Alistair wants, and I what I want, also does not matter."

"Be realistic: did it ever? Did what any of us want ever matter? Do you think I wanted to be a mage? Or a Grey Warden, for that matter? I wish I had drowned in that river."

"Pull yourself together. This sort of wallowing in self-pity is most unattractive."

Maebh turned with a sad smile. "Then maybe I should go do it at Alistair, and he'll get tired of me."

Anora snorted. "The way he was looking at you? You'd have to chop off your nose." She sighed. "It's not a bad idea, if you can talk him into it. I just want to know if I'm going to have to deal with the same things I had to deal with Cailan."

Maebh hugged herself. "I can talk him into it. I can talk him into pretty much anything at this point. And he takes things seriously. He won't like it, but maybe in time..." her voice caught. "He really is a wonderful person. He could make you very happy, if you let him."

"If _you_ let him."

"...I deserved that."


	20. Together, We're Invincible

Author's Note: Sorry for the incredibly long delay in updating. And thank you to all you Swoopers who finally kicked my butt hard enough to get me to write this.

Denerim

Maebh burst into Arl Eamon's sitting room. Eamon, Riordan and Alistair looked at her, surprised. She pointed to Alistair. "Come with me. We're going... Riordan where did you say the Grey Warden supplies were?"

"In the warehouse, Sister. In the back alley just past The Wonders of Thedas."

"Yes, of course." she turned back to Alistair. "We're going to the warehouse."

* * *

"So," Alistair said as Maebh closed the door behind them. "Talking to Anora is that bad, huh?"

Maebh paced. "It was...enlightening. She knows who I am. She knows everything, really. She asked me something. But I didn't give her an answer. I wanted to talk to you first. And here, because I don't trust those people."

Alistair furrowed his brow, confused. "Who people? Anora and her maid?"

"Yes, them and everybody else at that estate. In this city." She clutched her hands together. "Things like this were so much easier in the Tower. I knew who I could count on there."

"We can count on Eamon!" Alistair protested.

"Maybe, maybe not. Especially with what I'm going to ask," she chewed a fingernail.

"Then ask." He sat down on a dusty chest. "You're making me nervous."

She took a deep breath. "You have said in the past that you don't want to be king. Is that still true?"

He leaned back and rubbed his chin. "I have been thinking about this. And I still don't really want it, but I can't just let people like your father and sister keep doing what they're doing. They think they are the only ones who know what to do," his anger rose, his jaw set, his eyes flashed. He looked like a king. "But they don't. Their way isn't the right way. It isn't even the only way. It's just what's easiest for them to keep power. But you and I, we've been doing things _right_. We've been making people stronger to fight the Blight, not just using them for our own ends. I want to keep doing that. And the best way to do that is to be king. If I don't take this opportunity," he shook his head. "I feel I may end up regretting it more than if I do."

Maebh smiled a tight-lipped smile. "Then I will support you at the Landsmeet. That's what Anora asked me. She wanted me to support her. I wanted to ask you, though, because it's not a terrible idea. She is a very good queen."

Alistair grimaced. "Well, she is a capable administrator, I'll grant you that."

"A capable administrator, yes, that's it exactly! And she has not been involved with the Teyrn's plans. She was as surprised and upset by Cailan's death as the rest of us."

Alistair eyed her suspiciously. "You don't say."

"I do say, in fact." She turned away. "She could continue to serve in that capacity, you know. If she and you were to--"

"No," he reared back. "Absolutely not. No."

"Why? It makes sense..."

"Are you serious? This is a joke, isn't it? Very funny. You got me."

Maebh sighed and rubbed her head. "I don't see the problem."

"You don't... The problem is _us_, Maebh. I thought you wanted us to be together. How are we going to do that if I marry somebody else? Especially when that somebody else is your sister!"

"Alistair, if you're going to be king then you're going to have to get married, and you can't marry me. We both know that."

He slumped. "You're right. I was thinking maybe... but you're right. You're always right." He rubbed his forehead. "Earlier, when they took you. I... thought they were going to kill you. I was so lost. I can't lose you again."

Maebh looked down and folded her hands. "I don't want to lose you, either."

"Then don't make me do this."

Maebh turned back to him. "Don't make you do what? Lead your country? You will be a great king, Alistair. Better than your brother. Better than your father. You are a better man than either. And Anora can help you to be that king better than anybody."

Alistair looked stricken. "I wish it were you that could help me."

She took a step toward him. "I was thinking, maybe we could..." her voice died.

"I can't do that." He frowned. "I'm not like...them."

A door slammed shut. Her face went blank. "Of course." She took a deep breath. Numb. "I am glad you are making that decision for yourself."

He crossed his arms and looked away.

"I am going to the Alienage soon. Would you like to come, or should I take Sten?" Her tone was perfectly neutral.

He muttered something.

"I'm sorry?" she asked with polite detachment.

He leapt up. "Damn them all," he growled. "If I'm going to be king then I want you with me," he stopped and reconsidered. "As long as you'll put up with me, that is."

Maebh exhaled. "I think I could put up with you a lot longer than you expect."

* * *

Maebh was beginning to hate the sight, the sound, the feel, the very smell of Arl Eamon's estate. It irked her on a fundamental level. Nothing good would ever happen there. She fought back a wave of nausea as she once more burst into the sitting room. "I found something, in the Alienage," she said with a tone of triumph that hid the sick pit of shame born of the knowledge of her father's actions. "The Teyrn had been selling elves to the Tevinters."

The room was shocked into disbelieving silence. "I have proof," Maebh reached into her pocket and pulled out the letters proving the Teyrn's involvement.

Eamon glanced over the letters. "Maker's breath," he sighed. "I should feel bad about this, but.."

"I did what I could for those who were there." Maebh didn't want to think about it, didn't want to think about the hundreds that had been shipped overseas already. Drained of blood for dark rituals or forced into slavery. Eamon had already forgotten it. She choked back bile. "We have our concrete evidence, anyway. His seal and everything." She turned away. "I have to speak to the queen." She left without looking at Alistair.

* * *

Knocking on the door felt awkward, like she should no longer have to deal with such issues of formality now that she and her sister were so happily reunited. But she stopped short of opening the door, smoothed her hair and tapped softly. Erlina admitted her.

"The Grey Warden, your majesty," she said softly.

Anora turned with a perfectly nice smile. "Warden, so good to see you again. Please, sit down. Have you had a chance to think over what we discussed at our last meeting?"

Maebh stared at her. "Warden, is it?"

"What would you prefer I call you? 'Maybe'? 'Maebh'? 'Miss Amell'?" her mouth twisted. Maebh could tell she was biting back some more cruel suggestions.

She shrugged. "Whatever. 'Warden' is fine." She flopped into the same chair she had used earlier. "The Teyrn was selling elves to the Tevinters. That's why the Alienage was shut down." Maebh took the glass of wine that had been handed to her by Erlina and drank deeply. "He didn't want anybody to know."

Anora was quiet a moment. "Do you have evidence of this?" she asked with quiet intensity.

Maebh nodded.

Anora leaned back with a wolfish smile. "Excellent. He slipped up. I knew it had to happen eventually."

Maebh glowered. "I'm glad you find the enslavement of your subjects so agreeable, your majesty."

Anora rolled her eyes. "Oh, please."

"Please, what, my queen? The lives of us little people are so beneath your notice that the wholesale slaughter of us at the altar of the blood mages is greeted with happiness?"

Anora shook her head. "Do not pretend to feel solidarity with elves, Maybe."

"Why shouldn't I?" she slammed her hand on the arm of the chair. "Have I not known elves in the tower, more dear to me than my own human family? Have I not been traveling in the company of an elf more loyal than those related to me by blood?"

"You presume to speak of family to me?" Her eyes narrowed as she sneered. "I have been used and betrayed by you and Father in ways more heinous than whatever petty indignities you may have suffered at the hands of the Templars and yet _you_, of all people, dare to speak to me of _loyalty_?"

Maebh carefully set her glass on an end table and stood up. "This is unproductive."

"I agree," Anora responded with icy calm.

Maebh turned to go. "Oh, yes, your majesty. I spoke to the _other_ Grey Warden. He's agreed to marry you."

* * *

"Warden, I'm not surprised it's come to this," Cauthrien said with a deep sadness.

Maebh's hands twitched. "Come to what? Come to you getting out of our way? We're already late as it is."

Cauthrien turned to Alistair. "If you were even _remotely_ worthy of being called Maric's son, you would be in there already," she said with more venom.

Alistair cleared his throat. "Yes, well, the funny thing about that is: we would be in there, if you weren't stopping us."

Cauthrien clenched her fists. "You two have torn this nation apart to oppose my lord and never once tried to understand why he is a hero to Ferelden!"

Maebh and Alistair exchanged glances.

"But do not think I will just let you pass and allow you to desecrate the Landsmeet with your presence," Cauthrien continued. "They will declare my lord regent and we can finally put this to rest."

Maebh grew frustrated. Cauthrien's blind devotion grated on her nerves. "You are serious, aren't you? You _know_ what the Teyrn has done, what he's been doing. You _know _he's not the man he was!"

Cauthrien's self-righteousness crumbled. "I have had... so many doubts of late." She covered her face with her hands. "He is a great man, but..."

Maebh sighed and walked to her. "All he can see is Orlais." She patted Cauthrien's shoulder awkwardly.

"He has done terrible things, I know it!" Cauthrien lamented. "But I owe him everything. I cannot betray him!"

"I'm not asking you to betray anybody. I'm just asking you to let me pass. Let me worry about what happens in there."

Cauthrien grabbed her hand. "Please, show him mercy?"

Maebh flicked a glance at Alistair. "I make no promises, my lady," she said and yanked her hand out of Cauthrien's grasp.

* * *

Maebh's heart was pounding in her ears as she entered the Landsmeet chamber with what she hoped was a confident stride. Luckily, the Warden Commander armor she wore prevented her from assuming her customary slouch. The armor was imposing. Anora had it polished to a mirror shine, and the dual griffon crest on her breastplate blared her allegiance to all assembled. On her back she carried the Fade Wall and the sword Starfang, made of a fallen star. She felt like somebody else was wearing her body. Mages don't wear armor. Mages don't carry arms. Mages don't command an audience. And yet that is exactly what she was doing.

Arl Eamon and the Teyrn were again trading barbs, this time in front of a much larger audience. Maebh's stomach felt hollow, and her hands were icy cold. She quickened her pace so she would be too far ahead to reach for Alistair's hand in a moment of weakness.

"Ah!" barked the Teyrn. "And here we have the puppeteer!"

Maebh felt her neck grow hot. Her gauntlets creaked as she clenched her fists at her side.

"Tell us, Warden: will the Orlesians actually bother to take our nation by force, or simply issue commands through their regent?"

Maebh stopped.

When she was four years old, Maebh found a bit of broken glass in the street outside her family's home in Gwaren. On a rare sunny day, she discovered that if she angled the bit of glass just right, she could focus the sun's rays into a tiny bit of light and burn designs into leaves. She felt like a leaf under that bit of glass now, with hundreds of eyes focused into burning points of light directly on her. She took a deep breath to settle her lurching stomach and clenched her hands. Focus. Analyze. He had mentioned the Orlesians, but that was hardly what Maebh was worried about.

She cleared her throat. "You are so focused on the Orlesians that you ignore the true threat: the Blight," she countered in a quavering voice.

"She's right!" some Bann or other agreed from the gallery above. Maebh fought the urge to turn and look. Others voiced their concurrence.

"While the Blight is real," conceded the Teyrn, "Do any of you truly believe we need Grey Wardens to fight it? You all know of their spectacular failure at Ostagar as well as their attempt to import four legions of chevalier! Do any of you expect the them to simply go home once the Blight is quelled?"

Cailan's body lay on the cold ground. Elven hands reaching through the bars. Maebh's head snapped up, she looked the Teyrn dead in the eye. "Why worry about the threat of Orlesian oppression when you have sold Ferelden citizens into slavery to fund your own grasp for the throne!" she accused with ringing clarity.

A hushed murmur washed over the crowd. "Selling citizens into slavery? Explain yourself," demanded a voice from the gallery above.

The Teryn turned away from Maebh. "There is no saving the Alienage," he addressed the crowd above with apparent regret. "The riots have left it in ruins, bodies rot in the streets. There is no saving it if the Blight comes." He turned back to Maebh. "Despite what you may think, Warden, I have done my duty. The look of regret lingered.

Maebh took a step toward him. "And sending an apostate to poison Arl Eamon, was that your 'duty' as well?"

The look of regret vanished, and was replaced with a triumphant sneer. "I assure you, Warden, if I were to send someone to report on Arl Eamon's treasonous activities, I would hardly trust the discretion of an apostate!"

"Indeed?" a familiar voice called out from above. Maebh looked up to see Bann Alfstanna glaring down at the Teyrn. "My brother tells a very different tale. He says you snatched a blood mage from the Chantry's justice. Coincidence?"

The Grand Cleric spoke up before the Teyrn had a chance to respond. "Interfering with a Templar's sacred duties is an offense against the Maker, Teyrn Loghain. Do not think the Chantry will overlook this."

The Teyrn turned back to Maebh and advanced on her. "Whatever I may have done, I will answer for later. But you, Warden, have something to answer for now: what have you done with my daughter? Does she even still live?"

All the blood rushed to Maebh's head. She opened her mouth, then closed it. "What are you talking about?" she responded lamely.

The doors behind him flew open as Anora entered with a flourish. "I believe I can speak for myself," she declared. She glided confidently to the center of the chamber. "Lords and Ladies of Ferelden, hear me," she announced, her face a mask of sadness. "My father is no longer the man you know. This man is not the hero of Riverdane. This man retreated from the field and left your king as he bravely fought the darkspawn horde. He claimed Cailan's throne before his body was cold and locked me away so I could not reveal his treachery. In fact, this Grey Warden did not threaten my life but rather saved it!"

Maebh's head spun. "The queen speaks the truth," she said.

The Teyrn hung his head. "So the Warden's influence has poisoned even your mind, Anora? I wanted to protect you from this."

He continued to speak but something had exploded in Maebh's mind. _She_ had poisoned people? _She_ was the force that needed to be protected against?

Something was happening. The Teyrn had stopped speaking. The Banns were voting. One by one the votes fell like raindrops into a river of support that washed over Maebh, leaving the Teyrn alone save for one man.

The roaring sound in Maebh's ears died away. She again looked the Teyrn dead in the eyes. They smarted as if she were looking at the sun but she did not look away. Her heart filled with sadness to see him so utterly defeated. "They have decided against you," she said so softly only he could hear. "Please," she begged, "step down gracefully."

"Traitors!" he snarled to her, then whirled on the crowd. "Who among you stood with me when the Orlesian emperor flattened your fields and raped your wives? You, Eamon, you fought with us! You cared once before you became too fat and content to even realize what you risk. None of you deserve to say what happens here. None of you have sacrificed the way I have for this land!" He glared at Maebh. "How dare you judge me?"

She despaired. "Call off your men, then. Let us settle this as it should be."

"Yes," he answered grimly. "Let us end this. I suppose we both knew it would end like this," he continued, rueful. "There was a time when I would not have thought so, but that is very long ago. Somebody else's life." He looked at her again, and the flicker she had seen at Ostagar, at Arl Eamon's estate, it was there in his eyes before disappearing again. "A man is made by the quality of his enemies. Maric told me that once. I wonder if it's more a compliment to me... or you." He turned back to the crowd. "Let the Landsmeet declare the terms of the duel!"

Maebh listened as the Banns declared the rules. It was as if she were there, but not. Somebody else was controlling her body. Somebody else was grimly attending to the regulations she was to abide by in a test of arms against the Teyrn. Somebody else was preparing to take her father's life.

"Will you face me yourself," the Teyrn challenged her with an odd undercurrent of tenderness. "Or have you a champion?"

Maebh turned to Alistair. He met her eyes eagerly. He would do this for her in a heartbeat. She never had to raise her hand against the Teyrn. She could retreat. She could avoid this.

Elven hands reached through the bars. The gallery of horrors in Arl Howe's dungeon. Jowan led off in chains. Cailan's body lay on the cold ground. The dark haired man wanted her made tranquil. A young girl abandoned on the bridge.

No. This was not Alistair's duty.

She turned back to the Teyrn. "I will fight this duel myself," she replied, calm.

"It is you or me they will follow, so let us fight for it. Prepare yourself!" he commanded.

The words flared in her memory. She was six years old. Her father was advancing on her. As if by instinct, she whipped out her sword and shield. She adopted the Templar stance Alistair had taught her on their trip back from the Brecilian forest. She knew his first move would be to knock her down. Before he had the chance, she quickly cast a glyph of repulsion.

She was thrown by his roar. She hit the ground with a crash. Her body jarred against her armor, knocking the air out of her chest. Her shield clattered away from her, but her grip on her sword stayed firm. Sparks swarmed her vision as she tried to roll over. She heard the Teyrn rushing toward her. She grabbed her shield and twisted to cover the back of her head as he was flung back by her glyph. She leapt to her feet and returned to her stance. She cast another repulsion glyph before he got back to his feet.

Her mind raced. She had to keep him at distance. He circled around her glyph while she spat lightning and arcane bolts at him, trying to think.

"You wear armor like a warrior but you cower just like a mage, girl," he scoffed.

She bristled. "I am as much a warrior as any here."

"Then face me honestly, if you want to be taken seriously," he taunted.

She saw red. "You want me to be honest? Really?"

The Teyrn's brow furrowed. He still didn't recognize her. He didn't understand. The rage deep within her boiled over. After all that he had done to her, he didn't even know who she was.

She charged at him, a roar of anger escaping from her lips. She deflected his blow and smashed her shield toward his chin. He staggered but did not fall. He struck a crushing blow that landed squarely on her right shoulder. She gritted her teeth at the pain, but her grip on her sword remained firm. She swung and landed a returning blow against his side. She noted his grunt of pain with grim satisfaction.

He swung his shield and she leapt back, arms. He took advantage of her opening and rushed at her, raining heavy blows. She lifted her shield to protect her head and felt each shattering connection from wrist to shoulder. He bore down on her, merciless. She tensed, coiled, and threw her shield back, hitting his arm with such force that his sword was flung wide.

She rushed at him, knocking his shield with the pommel of her sword and kicking his feet out from under him. In a flash she was standing over him, her sword to his throat.

The Teyrn was defeated. He looked surprised, as if he were trying to determine how she had done it. Maebh trembled like a leaf. She worried that her armor would rattle, that her hand would slip and she would cut his throat by accident.

His eyes were hollow and far away. "I underestimated you," he said. "I thought you were a child like Cailan, playing at war." He got back to his feet. "There is a strength in you I haven't seen anywhere since Maric died. I yield."

She adjusted her grip on her sword. "You will die for what you have done," she said with implacable determination. She heard Anora gasp behind her. She couldn't understand. He must die. She would kill him herself.

"Wait," a soft voice stopped her. She did not look away but recognized Riordan's voice. "There is another way," he said. "The Teyrn is a great general and warrior. We need men such as him in this time. Let him be of use to us. Let him join the Grey Wardens."

"What," her mouth twitched. No. No other option. He had to die. "No. That's crazy."

He placed a gentle hand on the one holding her sword and pulled her. She took a step back but kept her eyes on the Teyrn. "There are but _three_ of us in all of Ferelden."

Maebh backed away several steps. Could she? No. She could not. He had to die.

Anora stepped forward. "The joining is often fatal, is it not?" she asked with a sort of wild hopefulness. "If he survives, you have yet another Warden to share the responsibility. If not, then you have your," she swallowed, "revenge. Does that not satisfy you?"

"Absolutely not!" burst Alistair. "Riordan, this man framed us for the regicide he himself committed! He hunted us like animals! He tortured you! How can you expect us to simply forget that?"

Maebh stared at the Teyrn. "He has to pay for his crimes," she echoed.

"No, you can't," Anora protested. "He is still a hero to the people..."

The Teyrn's turned his eyes away from Maebh's. "Anora, hush," he said gently. "It's over."

"Stop treating me like a child. This is serious," she flared.

He smiled wistfully. "Daughters never grow up, Anora. They remain six years old with pigtails and skinned knees forever."

There was a pain in Maebh's chest. Her heart cracked with anguish. A voice deep inside her screamed.

"Father," Anora covered her face with her hands. Maebh was stone.

The Teyrn turned to her. "Just make it quick. I can go to the Maker with a clear conscience knowing Ferelden is in your hands."

She swallowed.


	21. The First Betrayal

_Maebh Mac Tir is one year old. She toddles across the floor to her father, who holds out waiting hands. Her father's best friend is visiting. They are deciding the fate of Maebh, her sister Anora, and her father's best friend's son, who is still a babe in arms. _

_Her father's best friend laughs. "No, it will never do. She's too much like you, Loghain. Maker's breath, look at her."_

_Maebh picks up a toy sword and chews on the pommel. Her father's best friend laughs again. He laughs often. Her father sighs and ruffles her hair. "You're right. She wouldn't do any better at court than I do. She'll be my second. Anora will be your son's queen."_

She looks to Alistair. He nods grimly.

_Maebh Mac Tir is three years old. Father has brought her to Denerim. In front of her is a boy. "Hi! I'm Cailan. How old are you?" he demands._

_Maebh holds up three fingers. She is too shy to speak. _

"_Then you will be my friend. We shall be best friends, forever, and go on adventures together!"_

Left foot. Right foot. She approaches him.

_Maybe LaLune, who lives on the Moon, is five years old. She is playing tag with her best friend, Cailan Aspun, who lives on the Sun. She is winning. She always wins at tag. He tricks her. Catches her. Demands a kiss. She sparks, bolts of electricity shooting out from her fingers. He stares at her, blue eyes round with shock._

_She begins to cry._

"_No, we won't tell anybody. I'll protect you. You don't have to leave."_

He kneels in front of her.

_Maebh Mac Tir is nine years old. Her father is teaching her how to fight. He is a hard taskmaster. It is raining, a muddy early spring morning, grey and damp. She is wet and miserable and wants to stop. Her arm burns from holding the shield, her shoulder is wrenched from his blows, her legs ache from crouching in a defensive posture. She feels frustration rising. He comes at her again and again and again and again and she fails again and again and again and again. She fights angry tears. She is not good enough. She will never be good enough. He will never approve. He will never be proud. He comes at her again and she pushes him away. But she never touches him._

_The look on his face confirmed her fears..._

Left foot. Right foot. Her hand wraps around the pommel.

_Maebh Mac Tir is nine years old. She has hope. Maybe he will be like Cailan. Maybe he will help her hide it. But no.. He is stone. He will not bend, not even for her. His own daughter._

_He locks her in her room. He has told everybody she is ill. He is sending messengers, making plans. _

_He wakes her up in the dead of night and takes her away. He will not allow her to take anything. He makes her wear servant's rags. He shaves her head. He tells her she is an orphan named 'Amell'. She is confused. _

"_But, Father," she says, trying to understand, trying to reason with him._

_He strikes her the first time. "You have no father. You are an orphan. A foundling. Unwanted. Unclaimed. You are nothing. You will call me 'the Teryn'."_

_Maebh Amell holds a hand to her stinging cheek. _

He bows his head.

_Maebh Amell is nine years old. She is traveling with the Teryn, but she does not know where they are going. She has nothing. She is nothing. She pulls her eyelashes out one by one. She does not cry. _

_The Teryn has something in his hand. It looks like a leash, the kind somebody else named Maebh used to see on dogs. He holds it to her throat. He stops. He does not put it on her. He puts it back in his pack._

_She reaches to hold his hand. He yanks his hand out of reach and continues walking._

Left foot. Right foot. Her other hand wraps around the pommel.

_Maebh Amell stands on a bridge over the River Dane. The Teryn is handing her over to a stranger in bright armor and maroon robes. The Teryn recommends to the stranger that she be made Tranquil. The stranger looks at her with pity. She is angry. She does not want to be pitied. The Teryn leaves. She turns. She screams._

"_FATHER!" _

_He turns. He is coming back. He is going to take her with him. This must all be a test! And she passed! She is going home! _

_He stares into her face, his mouth twists. "You have no father. You have no mother. You have no sister. You have no family. My daughter drowned in this river. You are nothing to me. My daughter is dead." _

_He strikes her the second time. He turns and leaves. She sobs, broken. _

_The stranger removes his armored gloves. He strokes her head gently. He takes her hand in his and leads her away._

He braces himself for the impact.

_Maebh Amell is fifteen years old. The Teryn returns and tries to have her made Tranquil once more. He won't even look at her. She is too smart for him. The stranger, now known as Greagoir, protects her. _

Left foot. Right foot. Her pace increases.

_Maebh Amell is twenty years old. She is researching about mages in other cultures. She stares in shock at a diagram of a Qunari mage collar. The Teryn had one of these, he had nearly put one of these on her._

He opens his eyes.

_Maebh Amell is twenty-five years old. The Teryn murders her lover before his sweat is dry on her skin. _

Left foot. Right foot. She lifts her arms.

_Maebh Amell is twenty-five years old. The Teryn sends assassins after her. _

Anora gasps in horror.

_Maebh Amell is twenty-six years old. The Teryn does not recognize her._

Left foot. Right foot. She tenses her shoulders. He looks up. The flicker. The look. The expression she saw at Ostagar, at Arl Eamon's estate, at the beginning of the duel. It is no longer hidden.

He is proud of her.

Maebh Mac Tir is twenty-six years old. The sword slips from her nerveless fingers and clatters on the ground.

* * *

The Landsmeet chamber was silent as a tomb. Maebh dropped to her knees in front of the Teryn. Her heart raced. She struggled to breathe.

"What are you waiting for?" He asked tenderly.

Maebh tried to speak, but the words did not come.

The crowd began to whisper.

"The Warden has reversed her decision!" announced Anora, taking advantage of the confusion.

"What? No she hasn't!" protested Alistair. "Maebh, what are you doing?"

"I can't" she choked. She heard footsteps approaching. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Alistair reach for the sword. She was too late to dive for it.

"I'll do it myself," he announced.

"No!" shrieked Maebh as she threw her arms around the Teryn's neck. "You can't!"

The crowd swelled from a whisper to a murmur.

Alistair held the sword aloft. "This was our decision! This is _justice_!"

"Please, Alistair, stop," she sobbed, eyes wide with fear.

"You won the Landsmeet and you said you would make me king. That makes me king, right? Am I king now?" Alistair turned wildly to the assembled nobles. "As my first order as king, I order the traitor Loghain executed!"

Maebh tightened her grip. "No! No one's decided that yet!"

"She is correct. All, that was decided was that my father should step down," Anora chimed in, not unlike a cat with her claws sunk in her newly caught opportunity.

"No, she _promised _me." Alistair turned back to her, aghast. "Maebh, what are you _doing_?"

The Teryn's hand was pressed against her back. Otherwise, he was perfectly silent and still. Maebh's cheek was resting against his. He was barely breathing. She adjusted her grip again. The armor clanked, biting painfully into her elbows and knees. "I'm..." she looked up, and saw the crowd staring back at her, their eyes blazing holes in her skin. "I'm invoking the Right of Conscription!"

Alistair reached for Maebh with one hand and brandished the sword with the other. The murmur raised to a roar. Quick as lightning, Riordan grabbed Alistair's right hand and wrestled the sword away. "It doesn't matter now what you believe, Brother. The Right supersedes all."

Maebh looked up at Alistair. His eyes met hers. His jaw was clenched tight, his eyes wide with disbelief.

Riordan handed the sword to a guard. He then went to Maebh and lifted her arms from around the Teryn's neck. "We will prepare for the Joining immediately."

Maebh nodded.

"So, _Sister_, any other surprises in store for us?" Alistair's words dripped venom.

Anora stepped forward. "Have you decided then, Warden, who's claim you will support for the throne?"

Maebh turned to them dully. "I thought you were going to get married and rule jointly."

"Yes," Anora pounced. "That is exactly what was agreed upon. I am glad you kept your word."

Alistair looked from one sister to the other, seething. "Yes, that was the agreement." His words carried a deep tone of menace that would have chilled Maebh, had she still possessed the ability to feel anything.

"It is decided then," Eamon announced. "Alistair and Anora will both rule, as King and Queen of Ferelden!"

The crowd cheered, more out of a relief for a clear resolution than any particular joy at the decision. Maebh trembled. She turned to Eamon. "Can we go now?" she asked him, her voice barely above a whisper. Eamon nodded. Maebh followed as Riordan led the Teryn out of the chamber.

The Teryn turned to her. "Stand up straight, girl," he commanded.

Maebh was exhausted, her limbs felt like lead and her head felt like it was stuffed with cotton. "Riordan," she said weakly, "If it's not too much trouble I should like to change out of this armor."

"Whatever you need, Sister," Riordan responded.

* * *

Maebh was led away by a servant to a private chamber. She was left alone while the servant went to fetch her mage robes. Her stomach lurched. She yanked her gauntlets off and hurled them across the room. She pressed a shaking hand to her mouth and crouched, breathing heavily through her nose. She felt like she was suffocating under the weight of her breastplate. What had she done?

The servant returned. Maebh stood and raised her arms while the woman made quick work of her buckles. She struggled to catch her breath.

"Do you require anything else, Warden?" the elf asked quietly.

Maebh shook her head and fastened her robes at her throat.

"The Queen would like a word with you. She said I was to let her know when you had composed yourself. Should I tell her you are ready?"

Maebh shrugged. "Sure. As Her Majesty desires. Let's get this over with." She bit her fist as her stomach lurched again. She leaned her face against the wall and took several deep breaths. The look on Alistair's face haunted her. She tried to push it out of her mind. The door opened and she turned to see Anora gliding into the room.

"Well," she said in an amused tone. "You certainly have a flair for the dramatic, don't you?"

Maebh scowled. "I'm pleased that you were _entertained_." The acidity of her words were ignored. "Where's Alistair?"

Anora shrugged. "He's upstairs, pouting. Why didn't you warn me he was so much like Cailan?"

"Because I don't think he is at all like Cailan." Maebh crossed her arms.

Anora was quiet a moment, regarding her quizzically. "So tell me, Warden. How much of that did you plan in advance?"

Maebh stared at her. "So we've come back to that now, Your Majesty?"

Anora laughed. "Yes, we have! Thanks to you…" She walked to a window, looked out over the city, and sighed happily. "This has all worked out even better than I dared hope."

Maebh's scowl deepened. "But the Teryn may still die in the Joining."

Anora turned back to her. "Why do you persist in calling Father 'the Teryn'? He no longer has a title."

Maebh shrugged unhappily. "Titles don't change his odds of survival. Never mind that I have no idea how Alistair will react, whether or not he will..."

"Who cares what Alistair thinks?" scoffed Anora. Tears welled in Maebh's eyes. Anora sighed. "Oh, don't. Don't be like that."

"What am I supposed to be like? What do you want from me? To gloat?" Maebh's voice rose. "Fine: you win. You win everything! Maybe you'll even get lucky and the Archdemon will kill me! Then you'll be free from me for good. Is that what you want to hear?"

"No, Maybe, that is not at all what I want to hear," Anora sighed. "I wanted to thank you for keeping your end of the bargain. I know it must not have been easy for you. I also wanted to thank you for..." Anora looked down. "For changing your mind about Father."

Maebh bit her lip. "You have _no idea_ how close I was..."

"Please, just...don't." Anora's expression cracked, became pained. "I don't want to know."

They were quiet a moment, Maebh lost in her own misery, Anora regarding her placidly. Eventually, Maebh shook her head and sighed. "I should go find Alistair. I need to talk to him."

* * *

Maebh trudged up the grand staircase with leaden feet. She wasn't even sure of where Alistair was. The palace was enormous, high ceilings and meandering hallways that lead to rooms upon rooms that served no apparent purpose. She stopped at the top of the stairs, lightheaded. Portraits of ancient kings stared back at her. Their gazes seemed to mock her confusion. They all knew their way around this place. Alistair would find his way, too, eventually. At the end of the row of portraits was a blank section. Maebh looked at the name plate that had already been installed. It read: "_Cailan Theirin 9:25 – 9: "_ The Teryn must not have thought it a priority to update Cailan's legacy.

She bowed her head, and raised her hands to her temples. She needed to hold herself together. Turning away from the place where Cailan's portrait was to hang, her thoughts returned to the Tower. How many times had she been overwhelmed with fear or anxiety and managed to control herself? She could do this. She straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin. Whatever arguments Alistair had to throw at her, she was not ashamed for having spared the Teryn's life. How dare he waste such a resource when the Blight threatened the very existence of every Ferelden? How dare he question her judgment when it was she that had believed in him enough to put him on the throne?

As luck would have it, she didn't have to ask anyone about Alistair's whereabouts. His outraged cries echoed down the hall. She headed in the direction of his shouting and found him in what appeared to be a small library. His face was red, his eyes narrow, his arms gesticulated wildly. Riordan was with him, arms wide and palms up, clearly at a loss of words. "I am sorry, Your Majesty," the Orlesian Warden said calmly. "Since the Right of Conscription was invoked, we cannot reverse the decision. It would undermine the future recruiting capabilities of the Grey Wardens as a whole. We must go through with the Joining."

Alistair pointed an armored finger in Riordan's face. "Being a Grey Warden is an_ honor_. Not a punishment! I will _never_ stand next to that man and call him Brother."

Riordan sighed. "I am sorry you feel that way, Brother. You will excuse me, I must prepare for the ritual." He turned to leave the room, catching Maebh's eye as he left. He rubbed his closed eyes, head shaking in frustration and disbelief.

Maebh made sure they were alone, and then shut the door behind her. She turned to face him. "Let's have it out, then," she said calmly.

Alistair's lips were pressed together tight; a thin, angry line. His eyes blazed with fury. "I don't even know where to begin with you."

Maebh was calm. Collected. Empty. She clasped her hands behind her back and awaited the inevitable eruption.

"Shouldn't you and your dear sister be planning a party to celebrate our upcoming nuptials? Isn't that the sort of thing women do in these situations?"

Maebh watched as he paced from side to side. "I know how this must look to you."

"Do you? Do you _really_?" He whirled on her. "The Grey Wardens are all dead! The king is dead! And yet Loghain lives! How is this justice?"

"I truly believe that this is for the best."

He advanced. "You're just like him. You don't care who you betray. You don't care who's destroyed in your wake. You think that you and you alone know what's best for everyone else!"

Maebh took a step back.

"No matter what you thought, or felt, or whatever it was that made you change your mind, _he __**deserved to die**_**!**"

Maebh clenched her jaw. "You really are surprised? This is that great of a shock?"

Alistair stopped short. "I _trusted_ you!"

Tears welled in her eyes. She was hollow, empty, utterly spent. He couldn't wound her; there was nothing left to strike at. "You really thought I could murder my own father."

"_Murder_," he spat and turned away. "What a curious choice of words." He resumed pacing. "I wonder, what curious words you choose use to describe me? After all, what have I got to complain about anyhow? I'm the king now, thanks to you. I have a beautiful fiancée, again thanks to you." He stopped his angry marching. "Of course, I have to wonder… It's probably only a matter of time before she completes the trifecta..."

Maebh wept silently, hugging herself, longing to throw her arms around him and beg him to forgive her. But she knew that would only make this impossible situation even more unbearable. She had made her choice.

"If you think I'm going to just roll over and let the lot of you keep carrying on like you have, you have another thing coming." He turned back.

Maebh struggled to compose herself. "So that's it? You're just going to walk out on us."

The fury reared in him again. "So long as _that traitor_ is a Gray Warden, I will not stand with them. Or you."

"You can't just quit the Wardens!" Maebh protested. "It doesn't work like that!"

"Oh I can't, can I? _Watch me_."


	22. Exodus

Denerim

Maebh ran through the palace halls, past the mocking gazes of Theirin ancestors and down the grand staircase. She stopped at the bottom, stomach roiling, trying to figure out where she should go now. She caught the attention of a passing servant. "Excuse me," she said to the porter. "Can you tell me if the Gray Warden and the Teryn have left?"

The man started to answer when he was interrupted by a calm voice behind them. "Maebh? Where have you been? Are you alright?"

Maebh turned to see Wynne, looking concerned. She took a deep breath. "I..." she swallowed. "Something's happened. Alistair... he won't be coming with us."

Wynne nodded, looking pained. "Yes, of course, with his new responsibilities."

Maebh twisted her hands. "Could you do me a favor? Could you go back to the estate and prepare the others for our departure? I'm not sure where we'll be headed yet but... I really need to leave Denerim. As soon as possible. Tomorrow morning at the latest."

"You will not be coming with me?"

"No, I still have some business to attend to here. The Joining, you understand," Maebh wandered off in the direction of the Landsmeet Chamber.

"Maebh," Wynne called. "They're back that way," she said pointing to a corridor slightly to the left. "Third door on the right."

"…Right. Thanks." She turned in the direction Wynne pointed, clinging to her ragged shreds of dignity.

* * *

The hall was deserted and eerily silent. When Maebh pushed on the large oak door it resisted her first attempt. She pushed harder, but the door still refused to budge. She cursed and kicked it. The door shuddered and she jumped back as it opened towards her. On the other side was the Teryn.

She stared at him, and he at her, for an endless moment. "Come in then," he said and admitted her.

Maebh walked past him and looked around. Another one of those random rooms that seemed to make up noble estates. There was no apparent purpose to the room but it was well furnished. There was a table, a fireplace, and some sofas. But no Riordan. She walked over to the table and picked up the papers that Riordan had left there. She held them up to her face, feigning interest. She read the same four lines several times, comprehending nothing.

The Teryn sank into one of the sofas behind her. "How strange. You have nothing to say to me." His voice sounded weary. "Somehow, I find that hard to believe, you being at a loss for words."

She paused in her attempts at reading, placed the papers back on the table, and turned around. "Not words. Just one word. I don't know what to call you anymore," she said frankly. "You're not the Teryn now, not really. And you're not a Grey Warden yet, so..."

He barked with laughter. "Warden? Yes I suppose that will be the next title I am to wear if I should be so lucky as to survive, won't it?" He rubbed his head and sighed. "Maybe, you must have so many questions. Speak freely and ask them."

A glow of happiness warmed her at the sound of her nickname, but it was not enough. She shook her head. Hundreds of hurts and questions and demands and accusations crowded her mouth, jamming together. Where to start?

"Come here," he demanded. Maebh obeyed and sat next to him on the couch. "First things first. What do you think of calling me 'Father'?"

"I have no father. I have no mother. I have no sister. I have no family," she recited without emotion. "I am an orphan. I am a foundling. Unwanted. Unclaimed. I am nothing."

The Teryn frowned darkly, but said nothing. Maebh stared straight ahead, her hands folded in her lap. When he finally spoke, his words came out hoarsely. "You need to understand. Everything I did was for your own protection."

Maebh was stunned. "My own..." she repeated dully. A flicker of anger erupted deep in her belly. "My own _safety_?" She fumed. Her hands clenched in her lap. "I don't want to talk about this. Where's Riordan?"

"Riordan told me that preparations may take some time. Now, young lady, these may be the last few hours of my life. I should like to take this time to attempt to reconcile with you."

"You didn't seem very interested in reconciling the last few times we met."

"I always believed I would have more time," he responded thoughtfully.

"'More time'? Like the time I had a sword in my hand, ready to cut off your head? Is that what you mean by 'more time'?!"

He frowned. "You should have. It was your right, as winner of the duel."

She leapt up. "You should not say such things! Not after..." She pressed her hand to her mouth. No. No crying over him. She took a deep breath. "Not after what you've cost me."

"Maybe, you won. You should have executed me. You know this. But I understand why you didn't. At least, I like to think I do. But if you had followed through, you would have proven your mettle to those spineless nobles. They would have taken you seriously. Now? Now they see your weakness."

"My weakness being that I would not murder my own..." She pressed her hand to her mouth again. "What about you?"

"Indeed. What about me."

"If you had won. If it had been me, kneeling there waiting for the blade to fall. Would you have executed me?"

"No of course not. Don't be ridiculous. With what happened at the Tower, Ferelden is suffering a severe shortage of competent mages. I would have kept you to fight the Blight." He paused, his look hard as stone. "I would have called for the execution of Maric's misbegotten son."

Maebh winced at the mention of Alistair. "I don't want to talk about him," she said sullenly.

"Good. I'd rather not talk about my future son-in-law either. Might just make me nostalgic for the last one." He looked up when Maebh made a strangled sound in the back of her throat. "You want to know about Ostagar."

She nodded, both thankful for and dreading the change of subject.

He gazed into the fire, his thoughts somewhere far away. Maebh felt a pang when she realized just how much he had aged. He had aged even more since that fateful battle.

"What I can tell you is that what happened was not what I had intended. No matter how it may have seemed later. I would not have sacrificed my brothers at arms just to further my own ambition. I have a great many regrets about what happened there." He looked at her. "Your survival was the only good thing to happen that day."

Maebh returned to his side. "Did you know then, that it was me? That I was the mage Duncan brought from the Tower?" she asked in a tremulous voice.

He patted her knee. "Of course I knew."

She relaxed somewhat. "Whose idea was it to send … us to light the beacon?"

He shook his head. "Cailan's. He mentioned the two of you by name and was quite adamant."

"He saved my life."

"Yes, which is ironic considering how he seemed hell-bent on getting you strung up by the Chantry up until then." He turned to her. "When I say I did what I did for your own safety, it was Cailan's mindless selfishness that I was protecting you from. All this nonsense about hiding who you were, sneaking around the Tower, planning on making you his advisor. Do you really think the Chantry wouldn't find out? You know they would have taken the first opportunity given them to make an example of you. I knew the more I pushed Greagoir to make you Tranquil the more he would resist. If they ever did come looking for you, he would be so used to protecting you that he might have been able to keep your neck out of the noose."

"But what if you misjudged him? What if Greagoir had actually agreed to make me Tranquil?" Maebh protested.

"Better a Tranquil daughter than a dead one," he spat.

They were both silent for some time. The fire crackled. "Why did you say those things to me?" Maebh asked in a small voice.

He deflated, exhausted. "I needed to break you. It was necessary. If you went there full of who you were, you would have never survived. Cailan's idiocy notwithstanding, you had too much spirit. They would have crushed you. I needed to make you vulnerable so Greagoir would take interest. I used to worry that I had gone too far..." he trailed off. "But you seem to have survived more or less intact."

She reached for his hand. "I'm sorry, Father."

He laughed once more, a short and bitter bark. "_You're_ apologizing to _me_?"

"I should have told you. I shouldn't have listened to Cailan. I shouldn't have..." She paused as tears threatened once more. "I shouldn't have disappointed you."

He took her hand and squeezed tightly. "No, Maebh. You are no disappointment, not at all. I have been blessed with two remarkable daughters. It is enough."

They sat in silence until Riordan returned.

* * *

Maebh cleared her throat. She did her best to focus on speaking the words properly, and not think about the last time she had heard them spoken. "Join us brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that can not be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And that one day we shall join you."

Her father grabbed the goblet from Riordan. Maebh pressed her palms together, trying to quell her trembling. Her thoughts cast back to Daveth and Jory. Oh Maker, please.

He doubled over, his eyes rolled back in his head, and he collapsed. Maebh darted to his side and took one of his hands in both of hers. She pressed his fingers to her lips.

"Maker, _please_," she whispered, eyes welling. "Not now. _Please_. Not now." The minutes passed like hours. Tears dripped down her face unheeded as she whispered pleas to the divine against her father's knuckles.

Riordan knelt next to her and placed his hand on her shoulder. "The danger has passed, Sister. He will survive."

Maebh dropped his hand and covered her face, weeping in earnest. "Send for the Queen," she choked.

* * *

Anora arrived some moments later. "What is it? What do you want?" she demanded.

Maebh leapt up and embraced her sister. "He survived the Joining!"

Anora relaxed and put her arms around her. "Thank the Maker," she said softly.

Riordan cleared his throat. "I must return to Arl Eamon's estate and prepare for our departure, Sister. You can stay here until he is recovered, if you wish." With a slight bow in Anora's direction, he excused himself.

* * *

"I will not be sorry to leave this place," Maebh muttered as she prepared her pack.

Leliana looked at her, concerned. "You are sure there is no convincing him?"

Maebh jammed a handful of small lyrium potions into her pack with unnecessary force. "Yes. Nor would I want to. He's going to be king, after all. We don't want a repeat of what happened with Cailan. He can't run off chasing some stupid dream before he's able before he's able to get a son on Nora."

Leliana was quiet as they continued to sort and pack. "Are you regretting it?" she asked.

"No!" she declared vehemently. "I do not regret sparing my father's life. And if anybody else has a problem with that, they know where to find the door."

Leliana nodded. She started to say something else, but was interrupted by shouting coming from down the hall. "Maebh? Blast it where did she get off to. Maebh!"

Maebh dropped what she had been doing and darted to the door. "Yes, Father?"

"The Qunari and the elf are going to market. They want your list of things to purchase. And I suppose it would help if you provided them with some coin." He paused. "You don't actually let them carry money, do you?"

Maebh frowned. "First of all, their _names_ are Sten and Zevran. Second of all, here is my list. And third of all, wait a moment because, no, in fact, I don't let them carry the money."

He waved a hand as if to dismiss her insistence that he learn the names of her friends, and peered at the list. "Why do we need another bedroll?" he asked. "Everything has been laundered. I'll just use the one left by your erstwhile companion."

A blush crept up Maebh's face. "Um, no. That won't be happening."

"Why not?" he demanded. "I'm sure it's perfectly serviceable. Do the Grey Wardens so well supply their troops as to allow them to be so wasteful?"

She crossed her arms. "No."

"Then stop being so absurd." He took the quill she had been using to write and prepared to cross the item off the list.

"Father!" she yelped and snatched the list.

"Why are you behaving this way?" he asked, his frustration clear in his tone. He turned to Leliana. "You there, Orlesian, is she always like this?""

Leliana raised her hands, palms out. "Oh no. There is no sum of gold in all of Thedas that could convince me to become involved in this.

Maebh blushed in earnest, and avoided his eyes. "Please, Father, don't make me spell it out for you."

She felt his eyes boring holes in her skull. He sighed. "I... see," he said in a tone that dripped disapproval. He turned to take the list to Sten and Zevran.

One of the elven servants intercepted him. "A visitor for the Junior Warden," she introduced, and stepped aside to admit Ser Cauthrien.

Maebh clenched her fists.

"Junior Warden?" she questioned Loghain, She seemed to take his new title as a personal insult. "What is the meaning of all this?" She looked and saw the various packs. "Are you leaving?"

"Cauthrien," he sighed, and took her hands in his. "Yes, I'm leaving. I must go with the Warden to Redcliffe."

Maebh snorted when he said "the Warden".

Cauthrien shot the Warden a hateful glare.

Loghain looked from Cauthrien to Maebh. "Warden, you should be on your way to market with the others." It wasn't really a suggestion

Maebh sauntered past the pair, snatching the list out of Loghain's hand.

* * *

Maebh dawdled in the marketplace as long as she could. She haggled with desperate tenacity, surprising even the most tight-fisted of merchants into giving her a discount. Finally, their coin spent and her friends laden with goods, she decided enough time had passed. With luck, she could return to the estate and avoid another encounter with her father's lover.

Her luck had never been that strong, however. Maebh entered the estate's main hall the exact same time as Cauthrien was leaving. They paused, facing each other, tension crackling like the remains of a storm spell. Sten and Zevran stepped aside to hand their packages to servants. Cauthrien cut the silence with the same two-fisted grace which she swung her master's sword.

"When I asked you to show him mercy I did not think you would enslave him to your own traitorous order!" she snarled.

Maebh's eyes flew wide and she took a deep breath. "My traitorous... How dare you, you little bootlicking social climber!"

Zevran returned. "Now, ladies, please, surely there is some way to settle your differences..."

Cauthrien took a step forward and shoved him aside. ""Well then perhaps I should have taken lessons from you. After all, you seem to be particularly skilled in finding high-placed bedmates!"

Zevran started to say something but then reconsidered. "No, never mind. Carry on."

Maebh clenched her teeth. "Oh, I'm sorry, I misspoke. What I meant to say was that you're an expert in licking things located a bit higher than _boots_."

Cauthrien flushed a deep red. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but no words came. Maebh leaned back and put her hands on her hips, feeling triumphant. "You know it's a shame Loghain failed to inform you that since joining the Wardens, he no longer has the ability to bestow titles or promotions. I'm afraid you wasted your time here today." she sneered.

Her face exploded in pain as Ser Cauthrien's gauntleted right hook made contact with her jaw. She flew back, bashing her head on Sten's breastplate. Blood filled her mouth. She stumbled, trying to clear the sparks from her vision. Cauthrien came at her again, this time grabbing a handful of Maebh's hair and yanking with all her strength. Maebh spat blood and shrieked, angrily clawing at Cauthrien's eyes. Massive hands engulfed her arms and pulled back. She began to gather her will, to lash out and burn her father's beloved second to a fiery cinder, but quickly thought better of it.

"Don't you have a walk of shame to be marching on?" Maebh flared, directing her fire to her words and away from her fingertips.

Cauthrien stalked out, breathing heavily, and with tears in her eyes. Sten did not release Maebh until she had left. Maebh yanked herself out of his grasp. She accepted a handkerchief from Zevran and stomped off to find Wynne. "As soon as I'm healed, we are_ leaving_ this Maker-forsaken city!"


	23. We Know Who Our Enemies Are

The Bannorn

Maebh busied herself around the camp. Despite her bone-weariness and the inviting flicker of the fire, she could not bear to settle down near it with the others. The last time she had been on the road, Alistair still loved her.

This time of the evening used to be their time. They would find as private a place as they could and he would listen as she poured out all her guilt and insecurities. If only she had warned him that she might falter. Maybe if he hadn't been blindsided he could have reacted better. No, this line of thought was unproductive. She reached into her pack and pulled out the packet of letters.

She plodded over to the fire and sank down. The others had already occupied themselves with various activities, mending gear, sharpening blades, making arrows. She sat with her letters, missives from a man who had died loving her, before she could betray him.

She opened the packet and rifled through until she found a sealed letter, and opened it.

_8 Eluviesta 9:25_

_Maybe,_

_When I began writing these letters I was committed to writing only the most exciting, the most uplifting, the most entertaining stories I could conjure. I wanted to be able to lift your spirits the way the very thought of you lifts mine. I am afraid I cannot do that at this time. My father is missing. They say he is lost at sea. _

_I cannot understand this. He is a hero. Heroes don't just disappear. He faced down the entire might of the Orlesian empire and won and yet is felled by a storm? They are preparing to make me king and yet I have not lain my father on the funeral pyre. I cannot. He still lives, I know it. I have argued against my own coronation. I am serving as regent but I refuse to accept the crown for another month at least._

_I am heartened by one idea. Once I am king, I can have you with me again. My sources say that it will be some time before you are ready for your Harrowing. I find this intolerable. I need you with me now, more than ever. I long for your calm, your affection. All I have is your sister. How cold she is! _

_My mind turns ever to our encounter in the Circle Tower. You were a blossom amongst the stones, flourishing in the dark and the gloom. How you would flower in the sun! Find yourself a sunny spot by the window, and remember that I love you still, and one day we shall be together again._

_Until then, I remain,_

_Yours, Ever,_

_~C._

She stared at the paper, her heart full of love and longing. "Oh, Cailan," she sighed to herself and set to placing the letter in order with the others she had read.

"Maebh!" her very much alive father demanded. He was seated somewhat away from the fire, on a large rock. "Come over here."

She shook off her sadness and obeyed. "What do you need?" she asked, with forced calm.

"Sit down," he gestured to a blanket he had set in front of him. "Face away from me."

She did as she was told, though now she was a bit curious. "Can I ask what this is about?"

He sighed in frustration and took a lock of her hair in his hand. "I don't know what they taught you in the Tower but it has become quite clear to me that hygiene wasn't too high on the list of priorities."

She whipped around, "Hygiene? I am plenty hygienic!"

He tugged her hair, pulling her back to where she was. "Your hair is matted, you chew your nails, you slouch and mumble and are practically feral. Now sit still. I'm going to braid your hair."

"I don't want..."

"It's for your own safety. This will keep it out of your eyes so you can see clearly. We'll worry about the rest later."

He pulled a comb roughly through her hair and she winced. From how she was positioned, Maebh could see Wynne not too far away. She was combining components into poultices, and her hands moved a bit too emphatically. She cleared her throat, glanced over at Loghain and Maebh and said, casually, "Perhaps you should just shave it off."

Loghain paused, then pulled the comb through her hair again. "You have something to say, Wynne? Out with it."

"Wasn't that why she arrived at the Tower bald? Her hair offended you in some manner?"

"It was for my own safety," Maebh said dully.

"I see. Just like this, then? Shaving it off will be much easier," Wynne's tone grew sharp.

"That was different, Wynne. I was attempting to conceal her identity."

"Well you certainly did a thorough job. Is that your explanation for the bruises on her face? For the fact that she refused to eat for three days or the fact that she was unable to speak for two months and then the only words out of her mouth were her bizarre insistence that she were an orphan. Was all that for her own safety, too?"

Loghain began plaiting a lock of hair on the left side of Maebh's head into a braid that ran parallel to her chin. She bit her lip to keep from crying out at the smarting pains.

"You talk about things you do not understand," he growled.

"Then explain it to me. Because simply seeing the results of your actions does little to explain the rationale behind them. I did not know you harbored such a hatred for mages. Or is it only when you sire them that they are unacceptable?"

Loghain began to pull on the other side. "Please, go on. I am curious to hear the Circle Tower's advice on how to raise children. Tell me, mage, where are yours? Rulers of any nation I have heard of? Commander of any armies?"

Wynne was struck dumb. She stared at Maebh, questioning. But no, Maebh had not told him of her child, her son. She tried to tell her without saying, face open, no lies. She had kept her confidence.

Wynne turned away, and left the fire. Maebh squeezed her eyes tight as Loghain pulled on another lock of hair. "What is that?" he asked.

She opened her eyes and stiffened. "What is what?" she asked, too casually, as she drifted a hand over her letters.

"Is that correspondence from Anora? Surely Alistair has not actually mailed you anything." He paused. "He does know how to write, does he?"

"He was educated by the chantry! And this is nothing." She began to bundle the letters in the oil cloth. "Are you finished yet?"

"Almost, hold still. Who else would have the royal seal? And how many letters do you have, there? Let me see them."

"No," she said forcefully.

Loghain was quiet while he finished fastening her hair back. "There. You should find it easier to manage now. Would you like to see? I have a mirror..."

Maebh stood up, holding her packet tight to her chest. "No, I think I'd like to go to bed."

"Maebh, what are those letters."

She turned around. "Loghain, you forget your place. Do you honestly believe that just because I chose to spare your life that I would now defer to you in everything? As you just pointed out, I am the commander of our armies. Any correspondence I have with the crown is mine. I choose whether or not to relay any information to you, if and when I decide it is appropriate. Are we clear?"

He frowned and nodded. "Yes, ser."

She frowned back, then went to find Wynne.

* * *

They were about, but not too close. An acrid smell on the wind, an uneasy feeling. Darkspawn. They were headed elsewhere, though she was too far to tell where. She glanced at Loghain, who was walking next to her at the head of their group. "That feeling? You're sensing them. That's what it is."

He grimaced. "This is all very strange. I think I prefer fighting more mundane enemies."

"I have some bad news for you," she said, a quirk of a smile threatening. She was preparing to offer an olive branch, on her own terms.

"Is there any other kind," he replied, resigned.

"It's the Taint, you see. It affects your body. Eventually you can't fight it off. It takes some time, but," she shrugged.

He set his chin, stoic. "How much time do I have?"

"I'm afraid to inform you, but only about thirty years. Give or take."

He snorted. "You'd have me live to see eighty? You're optimistic," he said drily.

She smiled to herself. That was about as close as he ever came to laughing. He grabbed her arm. "But you? Surely it is different if you are younger?"

"Um, no, actually." This wasn't what she wanted. He was supposed to joke about it, then move on. Not worry about her.

"So, thirty years for you, too, eh?" he shook his head, bitter. "Blast that Duncan. He couldn't have looked anywhere else? Couldn't have been interested in any other mage?"

"Becoming a Grey Warden is the best thing that ever happened to me," Maebh said with perfect sincerity. "I have been given a gift! Without the Wardens, I would have been trapped in that Tower when Uldred released the demons. And if I had been lucky enough to survive that, I would have been locked up for the rest of my long, uneventful, dreary life. But because of them, I have seen things that no other mage has. I've been to many more places than I ever dreamed I'd be allowed to go. I've had adventures and learned so many things and met so many people. I'm helping to save my homeland and I was able to save you and I've fallen in love, twice!" she shook her head. "I've lived more in one year than most people do in their entire lives. Especially mages."

He frowned. "So, twice, eh?"

She flushed. "I don't want to talk about it." She snapped shut. No. Only on her terms.

"Yes, well, Warden, you are my commanding officer. I don't have the right to question your personal life."

She nodded curtly.

* * *

Maebh fought through the darkspawn skirmishers with dire pugnacity. They attempted to knock her down, she refused to fall. They attempted to flank her, but her father refused to let them approach. They attempted to flee, but she stopped them.

It was different, fighting with her father at her side instead of Alistair. He was much better at protecting her blind side, for one thing. She wanted to discuss strategy, but something stopped her. How could she trade ideas with such a man? The muscles in her leg stiffened, twisted, a painful reminder of how those ideas often failed anyway. Her breath caught in her throat at the memory of when she got those scars, clinging to Alistair's neck as he carried her down the mountain. Loghain looked at her, caught her eye, but did not ask.

As they walked up the stairs to the castle, Logain clapped her on the shoulder. "See, Warden? I knew you had potential."

She smiled, grim, "And now I have the experience to back it up. Are you ready, Warden? We may be facing more Ogres. And the last time I was here we fought a Revenant. They're...something else," she furrowed her brow, remembering the terror she felt when she first faced the powerful creature.

He squeezed her shoulder. "You'll see us through it. I have no doubt."

* * *

The ground rocked. Instinctively, Maebh's hands twitched out to keep her balance. "Denerim? Are you sure?"

"Yes, unfortunately," Riordan said, resigned. "That is where the Archdemon is headed. We must meet it there."

Maebh began to pace. "We'll never make it in time." In her haste to escape she had taken all the armies and left. Alistair was left defenseless. Oh Maker. She had killed him. "Maybe if we just left the bulk of our forces..."

"No, that is not an option. We need the armies to break through the darkspawn horde or we will never be able to reach the Archdemon. There is no other way."

"Damn it. You're right." She sighed. "Shall we head out in the morning? Double-time back to capital?"

Arl Eamon nodded. "We shall leave at first light. I'll have somebody show you to your rooms."

Riordan stopped them as they turned to go. "Come and see me before you retire. We have...much to discuss."

* * *

Maebh walked to her room with a leaden step. It was only across the hall from Riordan's but it seemed like miles. She felt sick to her stomach. Again, she was terrified for her father's life. She leaned her head against the door. Would it ever end? Eventually he would die. It was going to happen. Why not let him die a hero?

With a heavy heart, she pushed the door open. But there was somebody there already. "Morrigan?" she asked, baffled. "What are you doing here?"

She turned, smiled. "I have a way out for you, you know. I know why the Grey Wardens are needed to slay the Archdemon. I know that one of you will die. But, I have a way out. I come bearing the loop in your hole."

Maebh crossed her arms, suspicious. "These things don't come without a price."

Morrigan laughed. "So suspicious of me? And here I thought we were such good friends."

"Just come out with it, Morrigan. What do you want."

"Nothing...from you. I want you to convince Loghain to lay with me, tonight. On the eve of battle."

Maebh stared at her, thunderstruck. Then she began to laugh, deep full-throated, from the belly. "Oh, Maker," she gasped. "Morrigan, thank you." She wiped the tears from her face. "Oh Maker knows I needed a good laugh. What the... You're _serious_?"

Morrigan was seated on the bed, looking nonplussed. "Yes, I am serious," she sighed. "Please, this is awkward enough as it is."

"But why? What could possibly have attracted you to him?"

Morrigan crossed her arms, frustrated. "This has nothing to do with lust."

"What is this really about, then."

"I will be honest with you..."

"Oh good, I'm glad to know you've been lying to me up until now," Maebh reached up to twist a lock of hair, but the braids made it awkward. She chewed a nail instead.

Morrigan continued on, disregarding the insult. "Through this ritual, I shall conceive a child. When the Archdemon is slain, its soul will be drawn to the babe like a beacon. You will both live, and I will bear a child with the soul of an old god, free of the Taint."

Maebh rubbed her forehead and squeezed her eyes shut. She took a deep breath. "Do you seriously think Ferelden needs more Mac Tirs?"

"I will go and take the child, and raise it alone. I want to be left to my own devices."

"Have you _met_ my family? Another sibling? Are you serious?"

"For the second time in this discussion, yes, I am quite serious."

"Are you sure this is something you are prepared to handle? Never mind you, is this something _I'm_ prepared to handle. No, no this is a bad idea."

Morrigan stood and walked over to Maebh. "Do you really think your father will let you take the killing blow? After all that he's done to you, taken from you, after everything you've sacrificed for him, it will all be for nothing. He will get to die the hero and you will once more fade away into the shadows. I'm offering you a chance to keep him alive _and_ be the hero. Be the one everybody notices, cares about, recognizes. Not as the Queen's sister or the King's lover or the Hero's daughter. They will see _you_."

"But wouldn't that happen anyway if I take the killing blow myself?"

"Yes, but I offer you the chance to enjoyit first-hand! Please, as your friend, let me give you this gift."

"Look, I'll talk to him. But I'm not going to order him to do anything. It'll be his decision."

"You will not have to order him. The man is desperate to reconcile with you. All you have to do is ask."

* * *

A sick feeling settled in the pit of Maebh's stomach as she stood outside her father's door. She squared her shoulders, stood up straighter, and knocked.

He opened the door, fully dressed. "Warden? What are you doing up?"

She let herself in. "I was about to ask you the same thing."

"I never sleep on the eve of battle. Tonight, I've been thinking of how strange it will be to join an army of Fereldens as an outsider." He trailed off, thoughtful. "But you didn't just come here to chat, surely. What do you need?"

Maebh threw herself into a chair with a sigh. "We need to talk." She gnawed a fingernail.

He put his hand on hers, pushing it out of her mouth. "Speak, then. I am listening."

She placed her hands flat on the arms of the chair. "I want you to lay with Morrigan."

"Morri...who? Oh, the marsh witch?" He sat in the chair opposite her, guarded. "What could make you ask such a thing of me?"

Deep breath. Calm. "She will conceive a child."

He stood up. "This...I don't understand."

"Let me finish."

Loghain sat back down.

"The child will absorb the soul of the Archdemon. No Wardens need die tomorrow."

"You learned of such magic at the Tower, did you?"

She tilted her head. "Does it matter where the knowledge comes from? It's not blood magic, if that's what you're worried about."

"Usually _blood_ is not what is used to conceive a child, no." He rubbed his face. "This child, it would be your brother or sister. Are you comfortable with that? What would happen to it?"

"She says it would be born free of the Taint. I have no reason to disbelieve her. She would go and raise the child," she waved her hand dismissively, "somewhere. Morrigan is sensible. It can't be any worse than how Anora and I were raised."

"I deserved that." He got up again and began to pace. "I still do not understand why you are asking this of me. I will take the killing blow. You are in no danger."

She clutched the chair arms. "Because I still need you. You don't get to die yet."

"What use am I to you? You will find more warriors to recruit. Don't be sentimental."

She shook her head. "I know how to fight these creatures. I know which spells to use against Hurlock Alpha and how to defend against an Emissary and how to counter an Arcane Horror. I don't need you there. But what I don't know is politics. What I don't know is which arguments to use to get support for my cause or how to defend against allegations of incompetence or how to counter a land grab. Father, they are going to send Orlesians to help rebuild the Order. Riordan is just the first. There's no other option, I need you to help me."

He frowned. She sighed, stood up, and turned to go.

"I will not order you to do this. I simply felt I would inform you of the option, and give you my reasons why I felt it was the right thing to do. If I could do it myself, I would. But I won't make that decision for you." She walked out, shoulders square.


	24. All Things Go

Denerim

Anora turned to Maebh. "Would you like to address them, or shall I?"

Maebh turned and looked at the mass of men she had assembled; the product of over a year's worth of toil. She remembered the person she had been at the Tower, a weak, scheming, venal, frustrated, aimless orphan mage. She flexed her arms, encased in the Warden Commander's gauntlets, feeling both magical and physical power pulse through her muscles. She had been given an insurmountable task and achieved it. She had scrounged and schemed and badgered and bartered her way to commanding an army three times the size of of Cailan's at Ostagar. Her stomach flipped. So much had changed, and yet so much was still the same. Even now, she still didn't like talking in front of a crowd.

"Maybe it's better if you do it." That's what queens were for, right? Giving inspiring speeches to the masses.

Anora nodded. "Very well." She turned, climbing up to a raised platform attached to a nearby windmill. All eyes followed her as she began to speak. She encouraged them, urged them to fight, and by the end the army was cheering and roaring its approval.

Maebh wasn't listening. She clenched her teeth. Many of these souls before her would die today. A crushing sense of guilt settled on her shoulders. She turned away from the army, only to find her father standing behind her. "You've done this before," she said to him. "How..."

He shook his head. "Focus on the task at hand. Introspection at this point is counter-productive."

She looked up at the gathering gloom, trying to catch a glimpse of the Archdemon. He was right, of course. Introspection would have to wait.

* * *

"_No, no, no," he sighs in frustration and adjusts her grip on the pommel. "You want the force of the swing to come from the shoulder, not the wrist." He puts one hand on her shoulder and another on her hip, shifting her stance. "Again."_

_Maebh gritted her teeth swung at the practice dummy._

The ogre gushed black blood from the wound in its side and fell to the ground, slain. Two more of its brethren rounded the corner, intending to finish the task the dead ogre had started.

* * *

_Maebh shakes her head, holding a broken doll in her hand. "I had been told. There were apprentices that came from here. I didn't really understand, though. Denerim looks very different from the palace." She looks up at Alistair. "Promise me something?"_

_He takes her in his arms. "Anything."_

"_When you are king, do something about all this. It isn't right."_

"No. Just get out of here," Maebh said to Shianni. "We'll take care of the darkspawn. You take your people to safety."

* * *

_After the bandits' attack, Maebh takes her small knife and cuts the wound in his side. Suck, spit. Suck, spit. Get the poison out._

_Alistair laughs weakly. "I, uh... There isn't any magical way to take care of this?"_

_She wipes her mouth. "No. And stop fidgeting. I still need you."_

"Up there," Loghain points to the enormous being, flying, impossible. "Is there something on its back?"

Maebh follows his gesture. "I think that's Riordan? Oh, blessed Andraste. He's falling!" She watched, useless, as Riordan dropped like a stone, failing in his task.

Loghain turned to his daughter. "Maebh, you need to know. Last night, after you left, I..."

She shook her head. "Save it. We can talk when we're done."

"You don't understand, there isn't--"

A shriek appeared behind him and clawed him down. "Father!" Maebh cried.

* * *

"_Quickly, let's hide," Cailan grabs her wrist and drags her._

"_How will hiding help?" Maebh bites her lip and glances back. _

"_Shh!" he pushes her into an alcove by the side gate. He leans very close and whispers. "If they think we've disappeared, if we've been kidnapped or something, they'll be so relieved when they find us that they won't be cross when they find out about the frogs."_

_Maebh frowns. "Not _us. You_. Who would care if I disappeared?"_

"_Well, _I_ would care. And your father would care. So, there."_

"That must be the last of them," Leliana gasped and wiped sweat and blood from her face.

"No, check the gates. There are good hiding places, and I don't want to be taken by surprise." Maebh sent a cone of fire into the closest gate and was rewarded with the screams of burning genlocks.

* * *

"_You know, in another life you would have made a very good sneak thief," Maebh murmurs appreciatively as Jowan finally jiggles the lock loose._

_He grins. "Better than you, anyway. Stomping around like you own the place. Now, step lightly. I've heard the store room is littered with traps. If you get caught in a grease spill I'm not going to dive in after you."_

_Maebh harrumphs and tiptoes. "It's not like stepping lightly will stop me from setting off a tripwire."_

"_But if it's a pressure plate, it will help. Now hurry, we have to get the ice bomb before—Oh, Maker."_

Maebh grabbed Sten's arm. "Look, there, traps. This place is covered in traps." She turned to the others. "Be on your guard, there may be rogu--" and she was struck by hidden genlock assassin.

* * *

_An icy terror grips Maebh's stomach. "But, Knight-Commander, I'm not ready. I can't."_

_Greagoir is implacable. With a stern glare he points at the lyrium font. _

_Maebh steps forward, and glances up at Cullen. His face is stricken, his eyes pleading. She _has_ to be brave. _

"Are we ready?" she turned to her companions. "Everybody has their spirit balm? Leliana, you have all the arrows you need? Then let's get this over with."

* * *

_Alistair is silent as he and Maebh steal through the camp. Maebh is glad, she doesn't know what to say to him, anyway. Thoughts of Cailan swim in her mind. Ten years since their encounter in the Tower kitchens. What is she going to say to him? What does he want?_

_A flutter of nerves tickle within her. She knows what he wants. Maker help her, she wants the same thing. She looks up and sees the tent flap open, a beam of golden light falls out at her feet._

The ground shook as an ear piercing scream rent the air. Maebh stood frozen, awestruck by the terrible beauty of the Archdemon. She had seen it before, of course, both in dreams and in the Deep Roads. But the Fade twists everything, and in the Deep Roads she had been addled by lyrium and half-blind with grief. Until now, she had not been able to comprehend the full reality of the incredible creature. Its voice sang in her veins, echoing in her brain like a bell. It knew who she was. It knew why she was there. It knew all her secrets, all her weaknesses and strengths. It believed it could defeat her.

She swallowed the sudden urge to drop to her knees and give herself over to its siren song. "You, call the elves!" she commanded Loghain. "You," she shouted to Sten and Leliana, "man the ballistae!"

"And what about you? What will you do?" asked Leliana.

"Loghain will cover my flank. I'm going to try to slow it down," she began to gather her will. "I'm going to cast an area spell, watch my back," she shouted over the din to Loghain.

He nodded and turned away from her to face her vulnerable side. Her will exploded from her as she cast a fireball at the creature. The blast's radius was greater than she anticipated. She was flung to the ground, her hair singed by the backdraft. Loghain grabbed her arm and yanked Maebh to her feet.

Ballista bolts and elf-flight arrows thudded into the Archdemon's plated hide. The creature snapped its jaws and lashed out with its jagged talons, swiping and kicking at all who approached. Father and daughter dodged its attacks as best they could, looking for an opening, waiting for a chance to strike. Maebh fired two quick arcane bolts at its eyes, maddening the creature. It took to the sky, but could not fly far with its ravaged wing.

* * *

"_Brother," Maebh turns to Riordan after her father has left the room. "When a Grey Warden kills the Archdemon, and its soul is drawn to his or her body… is the Warden's soul destroyed, as well? Or does it enter the Fade?"_

_Riordan looks troubled. "No one knows for sure, Sister. It may be that the Archdemon's soul just kills the body. Or it may be the greatest sacrifice we are called upon to make."_

_Maebh mulls this over. "Thank you."_

She saw the opening. Without stopping to think, she darted up the dragon's neck. She plunged her sword into its left eye, feeling it slice through tender tissue, then crunch through bone and finally slide into the creature's brain. The Archdemon screamed again, and Maebh's heart broke. How could she be so cruel? How could she destroy something so sublime? She fought off the Archdemon's seduction, focused her thoughts on Cailan.

Cailan lay on the cold ground, killed by darkspawn. Cailan smiled, held out his hands, beckoned to her. Maebh had waited for him in the Tower, now he waited for her in the Fade. Somewhere, there had to be a place where they let the Sun and the Moon live together in the same sky.

She twisted the blade, driving it deeper into the Archdemon's skull. It began to shudder, thrashing in its death throes. Her thighs gripped tight on either side of its neck as she clung to the pommel of her sword. Black blood coated her armor, her hands, her hold slipped and she was thrown wide as the Archdemon collapsed.

She landed with a shattering crash of armor and bone near where her father was had been standing, watching, stunned and helpless. She gasped, ears ringing and vision clouded. "Is it … dead?" Loghain asked? "I don't... I don't think it's dead..." He started to walk towards it.

"No," Maebh said to herself. "No!" She rolled to her feet, and chased after him. He was further ahead than she though. She broke into a run, and yanked a sword from a fallen emissary.

Even when injured, even when wearing full armor, Maebh was faster than anybody. She bolted past her father, who still didn't quite believe everything that was happening around him. She reached the Archdemon first.

She yanked her helmet off and looked to the sky. She searched for the sun. It was midday, she should have been able to see it. But the deep, unnatural clouds that followed the horde obscured all light. The sun was hidden from her. Acceptance settled on her shoulders. Her heart was calm. Her soul was still. She raised the blade above her head. "Maybe I wasn't ever supposed to see it."

She plunged the blade straight down. Bone buckled, cracked, split open. A screaming light blazed, filled her eyes, her mouth, her ears. She couldn't stand it. She threw her head back and screamed with it, throat tearing, lungs ripping.

_Hands caress her body, whispers of love tickle her neck. She runs her fingers through blond hair, long cornsilk, short waves. The memories twist and combine as arms wrap around her waist and she bends forward. Pleasure and pain and ecstasy and agony and she grips and lets go and she clutches and is ripped away and where and when and who is lost. She's not ready but if not now, then never. She doesn't want to but if not her, then nobody. There was never a choice. There is unbearable light and her blood boils and she can't stand it. No. Don't stop now._

_Please just let me stay._

Let me stay.


	25. Fate Isn't What We're Up Against

For a day, the sun and the moon are in the same sky. And then the sun sets. The moon travels across the sky.

A heart beats once, twice. A diaphragm shifts, air is pulled into lungs and pushed out again. Sound waves vibrate upon eardrums, impulses travel along nerves to the brain. The brain struggles to decipher input. Hands upon smooth fabric, back propped up on pillows. Light upon closed eyelids. A pressure on a lap, somebody's head resting upon somebody else's legs. Those legs are attached to the hips that are attached to the torso that are attached to the neck that are attached to the brain. Fingers find damp spots left by tears, impulses travel along nerves to the brain. A heart keeps beating. Air keeps rushing into lungs which then push it out again. Eyelids flutter, open, are blinded by weak candlelight, catch a glimpse of a slumped form so close. A hand wants to reach, wants to touch but is weighed down, impossibly heavy, and so remains still.

For an hour, the sun and the moon are in the same sky. And then the moon sets. The sun travels across the sky.

Who is it? Eyes open again. A different person, sitting upright. Dark hair. No, the person did not have dark hair. The new person is reading a book. The new person does not look to see the eyes which then close.

For a moment, the sun and the moon are in the same sky. And then the sun sets. The moon travels across the sky.

One heartbeat, two. Gathering strength to open eyes one more time. A third person, a woman. The first two were not women, this is certain. Or is this the Fade. Is this some kind of torment, punishment for sins? Eyes are shut. Strength is gathered. One breath, two, three. The fingers twitch. She opens her eyes.

* * *

The light was too bright. She let her eyelids fall so that her vision was shaded by her lashes. She parted her lips. She wanted to say something, but she was so tired and her mouth was so dry. She looked up at the pacing woman.

One breath. Two. "Nora."

Anora froze. "Maybe? Did you just say something?" She turned around, slightly widened eyes the only crack in her composure.

She tried to nod, but her head was so heavy, she felt as if it might fall off her neck if she shifted its weight. "Yes," she rasped.

She smiled, and relaxed slightly. "Are you quite comfortable? How are you feeling? Do you need anything?" She gestured toward Erlina, who pulled the coverlet smooth and tucked it under her arms more securely.

"Thirsty."

"Of course," Erlina gently lifted a cup of water to her lips. Maebh sipped a mouthful and swallowed. "Would you like more? Shall douse the light? Is it bothering your eyes?"

She shook her head and leaned back, exhausted. "Where am I?"

"Where are you? As in which room? It's the fifth guest room in the palace. I apologize if it is not to your liking, but it was more convenient to where the healers are staying."

A ghost of a frown. "Palace. Denerim."

"Yes, that's correct. We are in Denerim."

"Damn." She swallowed, her throat hurt. Her everything hurt. A throbbing pain pulsed from temples to toenails. "I'm...alive?"

Anora cleared her throat, slightly impatient. "Yes, Maybe, you are alive."

One heartbeat, two. She gathered her strength. "Please, send for Father."

* * *

She had tried to remain conscious until Loghain arrived, but lost that battle. By the time she willed her eyes open again, it was daylight. She took one breath, then two, and lifted her head to look. A glow of reassurance washed over her when she saw Loghain in the chair, arms and legs crossed, head bowed forward, asleep.

"Father," she said, still in pain but stronger now than she had been when speaking with Anora.

His head jerked up and he inhaled sharply. "Yes-- what-- who--" he rubbed his palm over his face, blinked blearily and focused on her. "Maebh. You wanted me?"

She took a moment to look around. They were alone. "Why am I alive?" She didn't feel angry. She didn't feel betrayed. She felt only regret.

He rubbed his chin and regarded her thoughtfully. "So, you did not have faith in your argument?"

Maebh sighed and leaned her head back, left hand drifting into a patch of sunlight that was spilled on the coverlet. "I said we still needed _you_. I'm replaceable." She turned her hand, palm up to the sunlight and closed her fingers. "I just wanted to be sure you wouldn't take the final blow yourself."

He was silent a long time. Maebh was glad, she didn't feel like talking. A cloud passed over the sky and she lost her sunbeam.

He took a deep breath and spoke. "I knew you were going to do whatever you could to take the final blow. I could not let you die. A man is not supposed to outlive his children. I learned that the first time you..." His voice grew husky, and he paused before continuing. "I could not let you kill yourself while it was in my power to save you. And I couldn't trust that I could outmaneuver you. You had already defeated me in hand-to-hand combat, after all. And, as it turns out, I was right on that account. I was certain you had broken any number of bones when you were thrown from the Archdemon. And you still outran me." He laughed to himself, and then looked at her, suddenly curious. "Where did you learn to run like that?"

The cloud continued across the sky, and the sun was again revealed. Maebh turned her attention to her sunbeam, opening and closing her fingers. "Where does anybody learn how to run?"

* * *

Irving waited at the door, holding a thick cloak. "Are you quite sure you are feeling up to it?"

Maebh stood, supporting her weight on the chair. "No, but I am quite sure I am thoroughly sick and tired of this room. I would like to go outside. There is a garden," she gestured with her free hand, "just over there. It has a bench. I must sit outside."

"Very well," he tucked the cloak around her shoulders and began to lead her through the hall. "Have you been using healing spells on yourself? I thought I told you to conserve your strength."

She grimaced. "I will not lie abed 'til spring, Irving. I have work to do. The Wardens..." She paused, out of breath and light-headed. She set her shoulders, stubborn, and continued on. "The Wardens must be rebuilt quickly. And I cannot trust Loghain to do that to my liking. The Orlesians will be arriving at some point, I must prepare for that. I must to go to Soldier's Peak and reclaim our keep there. I must organize an expedition to Ostagar to eliminate the darkspawn still nested there. And, as my loving sister has been sure to remind me every time we speak, her wedding is being postponed until I am recuperated enough so that they may have some ceremony or parade or something in my honor. Technically, neither Anora nor Alistair is ruling right now, I think. Eamon is regent or something," she paused, trying to reconstruct the conversations she and Anora had been having. She frowned and shook her head. "It all gets muddled. What I am sure of, the situation is _altogether intolerable_ and it would be _best_ for _everybody_ if I were to get well and _leave Denerim_ as soon as possible."

Irving laughed fondly and patted her arm. "No rest for the wicked."

Her insides seized at his words. She stole a sideways glance at him. Did he suspect? His expression was unchanged, tender concern and a bit of sadness. They had arrived at the garden. Maebh relaxed slightly. The grass was still covered in hoarfrost, it crunched underfoot as they slowly made their way to the bench. Irving draped a thick blanket over it before helping Maebh ease down. "Oh, dear me," he said. "It seems I have forgotten my own cloak. I'm afraid it's too cold for these old bones without it. I shall return shortly."

"Oh, First Enchanter," Maebh was ashamed at her own thoughtlessness. "I didn't even notice. Please, take mine."

"Don't be silly, girl. You need to be protected from the elements, and my quarters are just inside. I shan't be long."

And she was left alone for the first time in weeks. She closed her eyes and turned her face to the sun, enjoying the gentle heat. The days were much shorter, winter would be upon them soon. A cloud passed over the sun. She shivered slightly and pulled her cloak tighter. A footstep crunched behind her. "I should have thought to ask you to bring some tea with you, Irving. I don't know how much longer I will be able to stay out here, after all."

"Well," a familiar voice drawled, "it's a good thing I'm so thoughtful."

Maebh whipped around so fast she almost lost her balance. "Alistair?"

He grinned. "I put some of that honey you like in it."

"But, Alistair, what..." She took the mug in her hands and her heart skipped a beat as he sat next to her. "How... What are you doing here?"

He laughed and put his arm around her. She leaned against him, stiff, as her thoughts raced. "Well, maybe you have forgotten in all the confusion, but you did sort of decide that I should live here from now on."

She clutched the mug tighter. "But... I betrayed you. You hate me. Why are you here, with me?"

He sighed. "I don't hate you. I was very, _very_ angry, true, but I don't hate you. And I still don't agree with your decision, but... You were right, I shouldn't have expected you to kill him. I should have done it myself."

She pulled away. "I would have fought you. Alistair, he's still my father."

"Maebh, please, I don't want to fight. Can't we just... be?" He looked drawn, tired. "You're the only thing that makes sense to me around here."

She curled her legs underneath her and melted against him. "Isn't this inappropriate? What about your betrothed? We shouldn't be seen together."

He wrapped his other arm around her and held her tight. "I don't really care about that right now. You're alive. Damn them all."

She thought about the Landsmeet, and Redcliffe, and all the other betrayals she had committed, large and small. She thought of her sister and her father and her and how she had grown accustomed to being an orphan. She thought of Cailan and Duncan and Niall, and all the others who had died. She thought of her friends who had lived, and her country she had saved. She wriggled even closer to Alistair.

"Yes. Let's just be."

And she thought of another child, ripped away from her family, maybe to never know the truth.

* * *

Ok, well, that's it. I hope you enjoyed it. I would like to thank every single person who ever betaed or brainstormed with me, which would be (in no particular order) Edje, Tasmen, Odie, Lit, Nea, Judes, Nonny, Reuben, AdorableAnarchist, Crisium, pretty much everybody in the Swooping_is_Bad IRC, my darling husband and my kick-ass roommate.

Like I said, I am planning a sequel so if you are interested, feel free to put me on Author Alerts. I'm not sure when that's actually going to get started. It might have to wait until after Awakenings so I can be sure that it doesn't mess what what I'm planning to do. However, if you have this particular story on alerts you might want to remove it. I'm going to be going back and editing chapters so unless you want an alert every time I go back and fix a misspelling or a dropped quotation mark, you might get annoyed. Fair warning!

(Although, Cailan and I have been very busy over on the kink meme so if you're interested in seeing a little more of what happened the night before Ostagar, be aware that I will be adding that first. *winks*)

At any rate, thanks for reading! And an extra-special thanks to everybody who commented! In chronological order of first comment: Shikyo-sama, A Study in Scarlet, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Peanuckle, durxa, NoviceFanFic, streunekatze, DarkMage6, Sati James, NuitNuit, noneko, Ariannel, , Kakimashou, dragonagefan, skybound2, Shanda27, Judy, Phoenike, Lothering Rose, zenrau, Crisium, Fluid Consciousness, aforgottenfairy, klarabella, Midnight Strike, clafount, and everybody who commented on Swooping_is_Bad, Loghain_Mac_Tir, dragonage_fic or the Bioware forums but not here. It really means a lot to get feedback, and I probably wouldn't have finished this without you guys.


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